The sultan calling to mind his dream when he awoke, returned thanks to heaven, got up, prayed, made two genuflexions, and then went into his garden, where he took fifty pomegranate seeds, which he counted, and ate.  He had fifty wives who shared his bed; they all proved with child; but there was one called Pirouzè, who did not appear to be pregnant.  He took an aversion to this lady, and would have her put to death.  “Her barrenness,” said he, “is a certain token that heaven does not judge Pirouzè worthy to bear a prince; it is my duty to deliver the world from an object that is odious to the Lord.”  He would have executed his cruel purpose had not his vizier prevented him; representing to him that all women were not of the same constitution, and that it was not impossible but that Pirouzè might be with child, though it did not yet appear.  “Well,” answered the sultan, “let her live; but let her depart my court; for I cannot endure her.”  “Your majesty,” replied the vizier, “may send her to sultan Samer, your cousin.”  The sultan approved of this advice; he sent Pirouzè to Samaria, with a letter, in which he ordered his cousin to treat her well, and, in case she proved with child, to give him notice of her being brought to bed.

No sooner was Pirouzè arrived in that country, than it appeared that she was pregnant, and at length she was delivered of a most beautiful prince.  The prince of Samaria wrote immediately to the sultan of Harran, to acquaint him with the birth of a son, and to congratulate him on the occasion.  The sultan was much rejoiced at this intelligence, and answered prince Samer as follows:  “Cousin, all my other wives have each been delivered of a prince.  I desire you to educate that of Pirouzè, to give him the name of Codadad, and to send him to me when I may apply for him.”

The prince of Samaria spared nothing that might improve the education of his nephew.  He taught him to ride, draw the bow, and all other accomplishments becoming the son of a sovereign; so that Codadad, at eighteen years of age, was looked upon as a prodigy.  The young prince, being inspired with a courage worthy of his birth, said one day to his mother, “Madam, I begin to grow weary of Samaria; I feel a passion for glory; give me leave to seek it amidst the perils of war.  My father, the sultan of Harran, has many enemies.  Why does he not call me to his assistance?  Why does he leave me here so long in obscurity?  Must I spend my life in sloth, when all my brothers have the happiness to be fighting by his side?” “My son,” answered Pirouzè, “I am no less impatient to have your name become famous; I could wish you had already signalized yourself against your father’s enemies; but we must wait till he requires it.”  “No, madam,” replied Codadad, “I have already waited but too long.  I burn to see the sultan, and am tempted to offer him my service, as a young stranger:  no doubt but he will accept of it, and I will not discover myself, till I have performed some glorious actions:  I desire to merit his esteem before he knows who I am.”  Pirouzè approved of his generous resolutions, and Codadad departed from Samaria, as if he had been going to the chase, without acquainting prince Samer, lest he should thwart his design.