L'Eglise Aristotelicienne Romaine The Roman and Aristotelic Church

[marco_depolis]

Slowly, Marco Ibleto Polo d’Oria Borbone made his way through the streets of Rome, his steps measured by age and the weight of his office. His cane lightly tapped against the cobbled pavement, but it was his loyal attendant, Matteo, who discreetly supported him, ever watchful for any unevenness in the ground that might threaten the old prelate’s balance.

Before the grand entrance of the cardinal’s palace, Marco Ibleto paused for a moment, lifting his gaze towards the imposing residence. Taking a deep breath, he gave Matteo a slight nod, signaling him to make the announcement. The young attendant stepped forward, addressing the guard on duty with the proper respect.

"His Most Reverend Excellency, Marco Ibleto Polo d’Oria Borbone, Vice Primate of Italy and Metropolitan Archbishop of Genoa, requests an audience with His Eminence the Cardinal," Matteo declared in a clear and deferential tone. "He wishes to discuss matters concerning Styria and its relations with the German Church."

Meanwhile, Marco Ibleto stood waiting with the patience of one who had seen many doors open and close throughout his life, his head slightly bowed, hands resting on his cane, while Matteo remained attentive at his side.
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+ Reverend Monsignor Marco Ibleto Polo d'Oria Borbone
---------- Archbishop of Genova | Vice Primate of the Holy Roman Empire | Bishop of Trento

[Kalixtus]

The guards, who stood watch over the mighty portal, exchanged a brief glance before a white falcon was sent to the palace to confirm the request. The Cardinal received guests only by invitation and granted audiences only on rare occasions. The name was not on the list, and thus, the request had to be confirmed first.

It took perhaps ten minutes before another falcon returned, carrying the order that the audience had been granted. The massive gate was then opened. The mechanism that held the gate wings together was unlocked, and a series of clicks and rattles echoed as the colossal bronze portals swung open, revealing the imposing interior.

At the center of the grand courtyard stood a vast fountain of white marble, adorned with numerous statues and figures—some spewing water, others gently bathed by its flow. At its heart, a golden figure dedicated to Helios reached for the sun, which shone down from a blue sky, painting the scene with a divine radiance. Surrounding the fountain were geometrically arranged flower beds and hedges, a perfect display of mathematical order that symbolized control over nature, while a network of paths led toward the palazzo.

The palazzo, built from white marble, towered majestically over the entire scene. At its entrance, muscular guards stood watch, making no secret of their unwavering authority and unwillingness to compromise.

The walls enclosing the estate were constructed from massive stone blocks, so thick that they functioned as a protective barrier. Large terracotta planters lined the walls, home to orange trees whose fragrance filled the courtyard.

On the walls, archers patrolled, their deadly arrows ready to be loosed within seconds, guarding both the streets before the palace and the inner courtyard with precise efficiency.

As the visitors made their way toward the palazzo, they would hear not only the gentle trickle of the fountain but also the powerful bronze gates closing behind them, the mechanics clicking and clanking into place.

They sealed off the world of Rome outside the estate, leaving only the domain of the White Lion of Eros—Cardinal Kalixtus.

Within the courtyard, white peacocks roamed the pathways, occasionally displaying their splendid plumage. Birds sang in the trees, and the flowers bloomed in harmonious shades of blue, reminiscent of the waters of the Aegean and Adriatic. The scene invited one to linger, to watch the birds, to inhale the fragrant air, and to embrace the tranquility.

It was idyllic—yet merely a prelude to what was yet to come.

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[marco_depolis]

Supported by his loyal companion Matteo, Marco walked at a measured pace along the geometrically arranged pathways of the garden, enveloped by the scent of oranges and the soft murmur of the marble fountain. The setting, though idyllic, did not conceal its true nature as a fortress: every detail, from the discreet yet ever-present archers to the thick stone walls isolating it from the outside world, spoke of an undeniable and unshakable power.

Upon reaching the grand entrance of the palace, the prelate halted. The monumental doors loomed above him, standing like bronze sentinels. Matteo, ever watchful, ensured that his master's cloak was in perfect order and that the journey had left no visible signs of weariness upon him.

The muscular guards at the threshold remained motionless, their gaze fixed upon the visitor without betraying a single emotion. The silence of the moment was profound, broken only by the soft rustling of peacock feathers and the distant trickling of the fountain.

Marco Ibleto did not stir. There was no impatience in his gaze, no sign of restlessness. He was a man well-versed in the rhythms of diplomacy and etiquette, fully aware that every moment spent in waiting was an integral part of the ritual of an audience.

His eyes fixed upon the grand doors, he stood in quiet expectation, awaiting the arrival of Cardinal Kalixtus.
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+ Reverend Monsignor Marco Ibleto Polo d'Oria Borbone
---------- Archbishop of Genova | Vice Primate of the Holy Roman Empire | Bishop of Trento

[Kalixtus]

The palace gates opened silently from within, and a young, attractive servant emerged. He wore white garments, embroidered with gold, revealing his rank and position in the service of the Cardinal. With a graceful gesture, he invited the guests to follow him inside.

The entrance hall, like the entire palace, was built of immaculate white marble, exuding a cool, majestic grandeur. Along the walls stretched masterfully painted frescoes depicting the ascent of souls into the solar paradise. High above them, at the dizzying height of the domed ceiling, a massive sun radiated its golden light, while a grand chandelier cast a warm glow over the hall and the sweeping staircase.

Tastefully carved furniture, exquisitely painted porcelain vases, and lush exotic plants adorned the room. Gilded mirrors reflected the light in soft shimmers, while powerful wall clocks measured time with a deep, rhythmic ticking—a constant yet unobtrusive reminder of mortality.

The servant moved soundlessly ahead, leading the guests through the hall into the grand salon. This expansive room opened through an imposing wall of windows to the sun-drenched park, making the boundary between interior and exterior seem to dissolve.

The salon was furnished with exquisite pieces—a plush seating arrangement invited repose, while an oversized portrait of the master of the house dominated the scene. Kalixtus, draped in flowing robes, gazed down from the frame with dignified severity. In his right hand rested the Holy Dogma, while his raised index finger formed a blessing—a solemn sign of divine purpose.

Without encountering the Cardinal, the guests followed the servant further, stepping out onto the vast terrace. Beneath an airy canopy of gently billowing fabric, a shaded sanctuary unfolded. A massive table, surrounded by finely crafted chairs, was richly set—fruits and nuts lay in elegant bowls, fresh flowers perfumed the air, and slender candelabras flickered in the soft breeze.

But the Cardinal was not there.

The servant led them further through the Mediterranean park, past blooming flower beds and towering cypress trees, until they reached the shimmering waters of an expansive pool. There, in the shade of a pavilion, he sat.

Kalixtus rested on a delicate chair, a glass of Limoncello before him, while at his feet lay Anasari—his magnificent white lion. The beast, adorned with a golden collar encrusted with dark sapphires, slept peacefully. Yet as the strangers approached, it lazily opened its eyes. Majestic, formidable—yet to Kalixtus, nothing more than a great cat.

The Cardinal himself appeared like a vision of light. He wore a robe of the finest white silk, seamlessly blending with his snow-white, intricately braided hair. His ice-blue eyes fixed upon the guests, who advanced through a sea of birdsong and floral fragrance.

The closer they came, the more distinct his scent became—a blend of amber, sandalwood, and oud. A dark, profound note, a sensual contrast to his luminous presence. But those who knew him understood: this was no contradiction. In this paradise, everything was part of his world.

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[marco_depolis]

No sooner had he crossed the threshold of the palace than Marco Ibleto Polo d’Oria Borbone, Vice-Primate of Italy and Metropolitan Archbishop of Genoa, was received by the young servant, whose white robe and gold-embroidered trim bespoke not only his rank but also the spiritual grandeur that permeated that place. The prelate inclined his head slightly, in a gesture of blessing and respect, and then silently followed the guide.

His eyes lifted to behold the marbled vaults of the hall, where the soul of art melded with the mystery of faith. The images of souls ascending to the solar paradise struck him deeply, and he paused for a moment to murmur a brief prayer:
“Lux aeterna luceat eis, Domine…”

The rhythm of his steps harmonised with the deep ticking of the clocks which, like the voice of eternal time, marked the fleeting nature of earthly life. Every object, every painting, every fragile piece of porcelain seemed to speak of eternity, of a higher order of beauty and divine justice.

At length, he reached the grand hall, and the Cardinal’s gaze fell upon the effigy of the master of the house, Kalixtus, depicted in the act of blessing. Marco halted, made the sign of the cross, and bowed his head before the image, as if acknowledging the spiritual weight that emanated from that painting.

And when his path led him beyond the walls, into the fragrant gardens illuminated by the setting sun, a solemn peace enveloped him. His sandals touched the flagstones as though he were advancing in an open-air temple, where the creatures of God – the cypresses, the flowers, the birdsong – silently accompanied the pilgrim.

It was then that he saw him.
Kalixtus, the Patriarch, seated like an incarnate angel, in his robe of brilliant white, his hair woven with snow, his gaze inscrutable as the winter sky. At his side, the lion slept – and yet remained watchful – a living testament to the strength tamed by grace.

Marco halted at a short distance. He offered a profound bow, then knelt, placing his right hand upon his chest, at the level of his pectoral cross, and bowed his head.

With a calm voice, yet infused with sacred fervour, he spoke:
“Most Blessed Father, I come to Thee in a spirit of peace and seeking, moved by the desire to know the paths the Eternal has traced in these lands. Humbly do I request an audience, that through listening, understanding may grow, and through encounter, the hope of the One and Holy Church may be renewed, even amidst the variety of her branches.”

Then he fell silent, awaiting in reverence, almost smiling with utmost serenity, like a faithful servant before the shepherd of souls.
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+ Reverend Monsignor Marco Ibleto Polo d'Oria Borbone
---------- Archbishop of Genova | Vice Primate of the Holy Roman Empire | Bishop of Trento

[Kalixtus]

Kalixtus looked into Marco's eyes and gestured for him to sit down and make his request.

As befitted his hospitality, he also poured his guests a glass of limoncello and smiled kindly as he stroked Anasari's head. His lion rested his massive skull in the cardinal's lap and savoured the cardinal's long nails, which were carefully filed into crescents. They penetrated the thick, thick hair of the mane and reached the skin of the majestic animal.

The lion closed its eyes with pleasure, and the cardinal's gaze travelled back to Marco. The almost sacred silence was only interrupted by the continuous lapping of the water and distant music wafting towards them from some corner of the park. A lute being played by one of the servants. It remained invisible, like so much here, everything served its purpose and its symbolism. Not everything was visible, not everything was revealed and yet you could feel the presence, the closeness, the necessity, like wind that you could feel on your skin and that got caught in your hair. Kalixtus was also like this, a constant force that inevitably moves towards its goals.

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