Since my youth, I have been greatly impressed by Islamic Civilization in all its aspects, its poetry and architecture in particular, and very often I have told myself that a people who could give to the world so vast a treasure of beauty and significance in every branch of culture must also have attained to the highest levels both in philosophy and religion.

When I recall the wonderful Alhambra, which is the most perfect and complete example of Arabic residential architecture, I feel myself to be as it were in a dream of beauty. It is as though that miraculous building the Alhambra had been raised from the earth by the magic wand of a genie, like the enchanted palaces of the "Arabian Nights."

Tenuous, almost evanescent in appearance, despite the solidity of its structure, it seems impossible that such slender columns should sustain those massive arches of shape which is an exclusive Arabic creation--and I say to you advisedly that it was well that the Muslims did not concern themselves with the painting of figures prefering to concentrate all their creative power on ornamentation--so that they have become supreme in that most impressive medium or artistic expression. Nobody on earth has been capable of inventing so many wonderfull diversities of decorative design as have the Muslims. The marvellous arabesque, devised to decorate domes, walls, tiles, plates, metal work, furniture, bookbinding, stuffs and innumerable other things are unique, and will so remain. Italians have been great masters in the painting of figures, but as regards ornaments they will never attain to the beauty and elegance of the Arabia.


When Charles the fifth set foot in the Alhambra, he exclaimed-- "If I was Boabdil I would rather be under its ruins than abandon it." Rather should he have said "God bless Boabdil, who left this marvellous palace intact."

And Sultan Abu Abdullah Mohamed, although forced to flee, weeping for his lost town, before the powerful army of ferdinand, was a hero and not a coward, as many historians and Theophile Gauthier have let it be understood, and his mother was wrong in saying to him--"Thou criest like a child for a lost throne thou hast not been able to defend with thy sword."

Yes, poor and good Boabdil, thou wert artist more than soldier, and hast preferred to sacrifice the glory of the moment rather than destroy an immortal work of art--thine enemies can hardly conceive of the mighty struicggle that was fought out in thy soul between artistic conscience and the vanity of a theatrical gesture.

No, they do not understand. How wouldst thou countenance so horrible a spectacle? How couldst thou contemplate those wonderful walls of that dream palace wherein thou hadst dwelt as King crushing one on another, gringding to piece those ornaments created by the inspired genius of thine artists? No, those people understand nothing! I imagine thee, brother Sultan Boabdil, bowed on a prayer carpet, in itself, I wager more precious in its beauty than the whole of Spain, praying to Allah and imploring Him to send thee light, and guide thee in the decision of what to do in that desperate moment--and I am sure that, in thy heart presently thou didst hear a voice saying,--"Leave this palace for the joy of the believers of the future-- offer no useless resistance to the powerful army of Ferdinand, and fly from here." And thou didst flee--and the barbarians led by the Cross burst into thy enchanted palace, and instead of standing awestruck at the wonderous things they saw, they plundered it of all its estimable treasures. But the praise to Allah!--the palace remained intact, and now we may enter it, and, with the help of our knowledge and imagination, we may see how it must have been in the goden days of thee and thy court.

Thou hast sacrificed the glory of the moment to the worship of beauty--and now the entire world enjoys this sacrifice.

Yea, Sultan Boabdil, thou wert a hero--thy soul, so great , could not tolerate a crime so horrible. What can I say of the wonderful Arabic potteries, the inlaid metals, the glasses, tapestries and bookbinding? A Visit to the South kensington Museum in London would give an idea of what was proper to a rich Arabian house in the old times-and not a rich house only, but to every house, even the humblest because everything was so artistic that all the survivals are now kept in glass-cases in Museums. Islamic art diffused a new light of beauty on the Europe of the early Renaissance. Its products are unique in the world--and what of its miniatures and MSS.

I had the joy of handling several ancient Quran. What miracles of art they are! Neither the Italians nor any other people have ever been able even to approach them. And who were the geniuses who worte the Romances related by Sheerazade? They are unkown--but the book which they produced is as fresh as if it was written yesterday, and gave a new impulse to the world's literature. It contains a deep philosophy and all human wisdom extant at that time--and many of those fantastic imagination such as flight, travel under the sea, television and hearing from a great distance, are now realities, and those who wrote such a wonderful thing in those far off days, had prophetic genius.

I forbear to speak him of great thinkers, poets, philosophers, astronomers and politicians, because neither space nor occasion will permit. So I return to my subject.

In my enthusiasm for Islam, I began to study all religions, from the most ancient to those of the present-day, comparing each with the other, and subjecting them to very close criticism; and little by little I become convinced that the Muslim worship was the true religion, and that the Holy Quran contained what every soul mostly requires for its spiritual elevation.

I made a deep study of the Quran, unfortunately only through translation--but I can well imagine how beautiful and suggestive it must be in its original tongue.

I was born under the Catholic religion, but all my family fought for the deliverance of Rome from the domination of the Pope--my father being imprisoned for about one year in a deep, dark and damp cell--my uncle, in prison too, and afterwards sentenced to death. They were conspiring together with Garibaldi for the purpose of opening the gates of the City to him, but the plot was discovered, the Pope's government being well served by very clever spies---and my uncle was just able to save himself by escaping to Africa, where he remained for the rest of his life.

My poor father had a very difficult time, having spent all his huge fortune for the deliverance of Italy. When at last the Italians troops entered the Eternal City, I was a very little child, but growing under the influence and suggestions of my father, I never approved of the superstitions of the Catholic religion,... so complicated and unlikely. The Prophet Jesus prophesied the brotherhood of all mankind, and said that in the sight of God we are all equal, without any difference between man and man, rich and poor.

But if you enter a Catholic Church you will see for yourself what a great difference exists between poor and rich--the latter kneel on velvet cushions in the first now, near the altar, the poor on hard boards, far behind--and if we will suppose, somebody wants to speak to a Cardinal, he must ask for an audience, putting down the subjected, for Cardinals consider themselves the princes of the Catholic Church. What has all this to do with the simplicity and brotherhood preached by the Prophet Jesus?

His followers were poor and simple; and I am quite sure that if he were to come on earth again and preach against the luxury and haughtiness of those who pretend to represent him on earth, certainly they would put him on the Cross or its modern equivalent once more.

And the Pope, who proclaims himself Christ's Vicar on earth, is the most aristocratic person imaginable. Arrayed in purple velvet, silk, laces, ermine, wearing a tiara sparkling with priceless stones, sitting on a throne of gold, surrounded by guards in gorgeous uniforms, and priests in rich robes, kneeled to by everybody (but never by me) amid clouds of fragrant incense--beautiful, of course very beautiful, all that brilliant theatrical pomp, but very, very far from being amenable to any spiritual impression.

For the Catholic ceremonies, the Pope gives his hand, or, what is worse, his foot, to be kissed--can a gesture more arrogant be imagined? Can this sort of imitation of an ancient Roman Emperor, self-styled divine, represent the poor Jesus who dressed in rough shirt and a poor mantle, and walked barefoot? What must a man of intelligence think of contrast so outrageous? And suppose you wish to be present at a ceremony in honour of a saint, or some similar festival in St. Peter's Church in Rome, you must have a ticket, and go to your numbered seat, just as in a theatre----and inside the Church there are galleries expressly built for occasion, for the Diplomatic Corps, the aristocratic families and other social categories.

On the other hand, how beautiful and simple is a mosque, and how poetical must be a pilgrimage to Mecca, where one cannot distinguish rich from poor, they being all equal before the face of Allah!

Now all my spiritual aspirations are to be able to become a Haji--with my artistic imagination, I can sometimes see myself quite alone in the Arabian Desert, with miles upon miles of it stretching right away like the sea; alone in the presence of Allah; like a grain of sand in His hands contemplating the stars, and absorbed in the imposing solitude; far from all the miseries of this world and astonished by the infinity of creation, more and more persuaded that the more science discovers new prodigious and marvellous natural laws, the more we must reognise in them the endless power of Allah! And what of the joy of consorting with my brothers-in-Islam--white, brown or black--feeling no difference among them, and turning towards the Holy Ka'aba all together?

Allah created no different colours of skins, and each one has a good reason to be content with his own.

I adore brown and black skins. The further one goes the further one goes towards the Pole, the more one finds pale skin and fair hair; the further one goes towards the Equator, the more one finds brown or black skins--it seems to be a question of absorbing the hot beams of the sun. Ice represents death: the sun represents life. I love the sun and fly away from the ice--and what is of an oyster brown, but the pearl inside white and shining? So I compare the pearl to the soul. I enjoyed very much painting portraits of brown or black people. Had I a dark skin, I should be happy. It is more suitable for a man, and once under the hot sun of Arabia, if I have the chance of going there one day, I hope to become brown! Brown skins, white turbans--what a picturesque effect---and I so hope to paint a new portrait of myself when I have become a sunburned man, and a Haji.

I hope my Muslim brothers will forgive me for this little vanity, for , after all, painting is my profession.

So I return to my main subject. I become more and more convinced that no other worship could be compared with the Muslim religion, dicated by the Angel Gabriel to Mohamed(on whom be peace and the blessing of Allah!). But before embracing a religion different from that under which he is born, and which is also professed by all his friends and compatriots, a man must put himself under continuous control till the moment for formally declaring his conviction comes of itself, imposing on us its high power. The grace of Allah connot descend on our souls if He will not give us the light of trugh, and I was awaiting that moment: but there was always a doubt in my conscience--could I continue to paint portraits and yet avoid being a great sinner? That was the point which stopped me for a long time from declaring my faith, and I sought advice on the pooint from some very wise Muslims. Some of them answered me to the effect that painting portraits was not considered a great sin: others told me that nowadays many good Muslims are painting portraits.~1(see comment of web-adim)

At the National Gallery in London you can admire the very expressive portrait of M. the Fifth by Gentile Bellini, and in books of art in my possession representing ancient portraits, there are two of Boabdil, the last Sultan of Granada, one in plain clothes, and the other wearing Royal Crown. But what is more surprising is that there is one of a Sultana unveiled. What more? My dear brother Haji Ali Reza explained as a sin, it is not so great a sin as to put me in a danger of Allah's displeasures--and he is a leader in Islamic religion. So I continued to paint portraits. At last the moment for the formal declaration for my faith revealed itself, it was one night when I was suddenly awakened after a strange dream. I dreamed that I was fighting for my life in a very rough sea, but after a desperate struggle against the fury of the waves I was able to reach the shore. At that moment a voice greater than the great noise of the roaring sea shouted to me! "Who saved thee form drowing,--and why art thou delaying thy faith?" A few hours later I went to Haji Ali Reza, who received my profession of faith, giving me with his usual kindness and great bountiful instruction regarding prayers and other details of the religion.
And so I became a Beliver.

Now I care not if, little by little, as has actually happened, all my old catholic friends shut their doors in my face, for I am sure that for every Catholic friend I los I shall acquire ten new friends among my brothers-in-islam.

I began to feel the inevitable consequences of embracing my new Faith ever since I began to frequent Muslim gatherings, but now, after my formal profession of Faith, and my last visit to the Mosque at Woking, I have received signs of open hostility, and as a matter of fact, just a new days after the prayers at the Mosque, I received by post a threat of death

I laughed at it because if Allah will put me under His protection, continue for the remainder of my life working on till the day fixed by Allah for my return to His embrace, alway thanking Him till my last breath for His many gifts, and especially for my artistic temperament, which permits me to imitate with my art the wonderful beauty of the creation, to glorify whatsover Allah with His boundless generosity is offering to our eyes for the joy of our souls.

I hope to live long enough to see with my mortal eyes, in no long time, erected in the heart of London the beautiful Mosque designed by our young and already clever architect Shikh Abdul-Hamid. Only the deep soul of a Muslim could imagine a Mosque such as he has conceived of, and only a Believer has the right to build it, no other. Praise be to Allah, the King of all kings, the Creator of all things!

Count Eduardo Gioja
Italy



~1: a) Great Allah painted us in stom of our mothers, so our painter is great Allah.
b) The devil trying to bring people in situation to pray other things(Statures, painted figures and pictures) then Allah. Do you want to be painted and pictured like that Statures and figurs?
c) Great Allah does't like prouded, arrogant people and people who talk about themselfs good. As you take picture of yourself or other people, you wanted to show others that you were/are someone better to reach respect, proudnesses or...

d) Prophet Mohamed(peace be upon him) and his companions did't draw himselfs. Great Allah order us in Quran to follow Prophet Mohamed(peace be upon him).