The text I translate here is the very first version ever published in France in January of 1926, in the context of a newspaper novel. presentation.
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Long before the coming of the Buddha, well before the birth of Brahmanism, even before Vyâsa had dictated the immortal words of his divine books, the Khmer people jealously guarded their temples, where the Kittahs, venerable priests lived so close to perfection that their spirit, before conquering eternal ecstasy, spent only in the body of a sacred cat, the duration of its animal existence. But, from the worlds’ origin, the saints disapproved of those who did not sanctify themselves in their own way. As did the Brahmans who attacked the Kittahs and devoutly massacred them. However, some of the venerable ones were able to escape through the inviolable mountains of northern Burma and there they founded the underground temple of Lao-Tsun, which means dwelling of the gods.
This temple, Sylvine, is a wonder among the wonders of Indochina. Not far from a lake, it is lost in a chaos of immense peaks, and as if, by an extraordinary favor, my English friend was able to pass through there, it happened to him in order to protect the last Kittahs against the merciless Brahmans. He could then gaze upon the hundred sacred cats of worship and get to know their history.
- I see the scene as if in a beautiful film, murmured Sylvine.
Listen, said Pascal raising his hand with the gesture calling for attention, listen and first of all, hello to you, Hiram-Roi, “When with the malicious moon, came the 'phoums' or, if you prefer more clear wording, the damned Siamese-Thais, when these barbarians came to the mountains of the Lugh, to the Sun mountains, there was, at the temple of Lao-Tsun, the most precious of the precious: the one whose golden beard had been braided by the god Song-Hio himself. The Venerable had always lived in contemplation of Tsun-Kyanksé, the goddess with sapphire eyes who presides over the transmutations of souls, of which the number is counted. He never looked away from his sculpted image. His name was Mun-Hâ. He had an oracle without whom he made no decision: his cat Sinh, whom the other Kittahs revered with fervor.”
- Oh wisdom, said Sylvine, to choose an oracle who does not speak!
Sinh, seated near his dreaded master, also lived in contemplation of the goddess. The beautiful animal! Her eyes were golden yellow, yellow with the reflection of Mun-Hâ’s metallic beard and the amber body of the sapphire-eyed goddess. One evening, when the moon rose, the Thais approached the sacred precinct. So, invoking Fate threatening his people, Mun-Hâ died laden with years and anguish. He died before his goddess, having his divine cat with him. And the Kittahs lamented such a cruel loss, threatened by the invasion. At that moment, the miracle of the immediate transmutation occurred. Sinh leapt onto the holy throne, braced on the head of his collapsed master, facing the goddess. And the hairs of his white spine became golden and his eyes, his yellow eyes the golden yellow of Tsun-Kyanksé, yellow of the yellow of the beard woven by the god Song-Hio, his eyes became blue. Huge and deep sapphires, like the idol's eyes. Its four legs, the brown of the earth, its four feet which touched the venerable skull became white, to the tips of their toes purified by the contact with the mighty dead. He turned his precious gaze towards the southern door, which interpreted a stern, imperative order, which, pushed by an invincible force, the Kittahs obeyed. Thus they closed the bronze doors of the holy temple against their ancestral enemy. Then, passing through their underground passages, they routed the defilers. Sinh, refusing all food, never left the throne. He remained standing, facing the goddess, mysterious, hieratic, fixing his blue orbs on the sapphire eyes from which he took the flame and the sweetness. Seven days after Mun-Hâ's death, straight on white-purified legs, without lowering his eyelids, he died, taking the soul of Mun-Hâ, too perfect for earthly life, to Tsun-Kyanksé. But one last time, his gaze slowly turned to the southern gate, from which later came the Annamese and Cambodian hordes in full force.
- Hiram-Roi, said Sylvine, what soul watches over you? And, if you love us, why your sadness?
- Do we know? … Ah! I have not finished my legend: Seven days after Sinh's death, the Kittahs assembled before Tsun-Kyanksé to decide on the succession of Mun-Hâ. So, oh wonder, they saw the one hundred cats slowly emerging from the temple in a troop. Their paws were gloved in white, their snowy coat had golden reflections, and the topaz of their eyes had turned into sapphires. The Kittahs bowed down in an attitude of devout awe. And they waited. Didn't they know that the soul of their ancestors inhabited the harmonious forms of sacred animals? These, serious and flexible, surrounded Ligoa, the youngest of the priests who thus knew the will of heaven.
- Poor Hiram! said Sylvine, you probably lament the mysterious paradise of Song-Hio, the god of gold?
- Do we know? said Pascal again. I like the nostalgia that comes with millennia of worship. The blue soul of Hiram-Roi weighs gently on mine, as if to mingle with it.
Then suddenly he laughed.
- How serious you are, Sylvine. You look like Tsun-Kyanksé as Hiram looks like Sinh. Our holy cat man was evidently stolen from the temple of Lao-Tsun by some criminal servant. The Kittahs, lost among their riches, are the fierce guardians of their old religion. Sir Lesly received, one day, this little living god from a native who did not disclose its origins. This native preferred to get rid of, no doubt, a sacred host capable of attracting vengeance from heaven and that of priests. And so Hiram came to me.