L'Eglise Aristotelicienne Romaine The Roman and Aristotelic Church

[Ferecide]

Ferecide arrived easily at Doria-Pamphilij Palace: in the many times in Rome he had wandered admiring the wonderful architecture of the Eternal City and this Palace was one of the gems in terms of architecture and art. He was visibly tired from bringing around a large bag full of food and books. When he arrived at the gate he immediately asked:

Good morning, my name is Father Ferecide Buonaguidi. I have an appointment with H.E. Cardinal Kalixtus. If he's too occupied with his duties right now, I will wait patiently outside. The only thing I would ask in this case is if you could lend me a chair to put this heavy bag on. I've walked here since I always enjoy looking around since this city is an open air museum, you'll never see such wonderful works of art all together in any other city in the world, but my legs are not as strong as the first time I came here, and this heavy bag didn't help...

Then he took out a small bottle of herbal tea, took a sip and waited for an answer.

[Kalixtus]

The guards upon the walls encircling the Cardinal’s vast estate cast their eyes upon the man before them, then glanced at one another with the silent communication of those long accustomed to their post. Their gaze drifted down to the protocol sheet listing the day’s expected visitors. The name Ferecide Buonaguidi appeared there as an announced audience—this brought a thin smile to the lips of one sentry, who gave a subtle nod. With that, the massive, bronze-clad gates began to part, their opening a solemn and mighty gesture of power subdued by order.

The sentries stationed atop the wall lowered their crossbows and bows, resuming their steady patrol along the ramparts. From one vast terracotta trough to the next, they walked, where handsome orange trees grew in sculpted order, releasing a fragrance as rich as it was refined.

The great gate closed behind the visitor with a resonant thud, and the way was made clear to the courtyard within.

At the heart of the sprawling forecourt stood an imposing fountain, adorned with myriad statues drawn from the mythologies of ancient civilizations. These figures seemed to dance and gather in light-hearted reverence about the cascading waters. At the center rose the trident-bearing Poseidon, his form noble and drenched by the playful spray of dolphins. The water trickled from the great marble basin with a gentle, ceaseless rhythm, descending into a vast lower pool carved into the very foundation of this artful spectacle.

Surrounding the fountain, ornamental flowerbeds had been arranged in strict geometric design, planted with a variety of blue and yellow blossoms. These released a honeyed perfume that mingled with the gravel paths and hung in the air like the memory of a forgotten summer.

As the bronze gate groaned shut behind Ferecide, the sounds of the city faded like a dream at dawn. What remained was the scent of blossoms and orange flowers, the stillness of cultivated peace, the song of birds, the hush of falling water—and perhaps the cry of one of the white peacocks that proudly wandered the courtyard, guardians of the palace's serenity.

Before him rose the snow-white palace of marble, a structure of multiple stories wrought in elegant, imaginative architecture—graced with columns, statues, and whimsical oriels. A composition of grandeur and grace, it was both fortress and reverie.

Before the Palazzo itself stood yet another line of guards, who regarded the newcomer with cautious, discerning eyes. Ferecide would need to convince these men too—that the Cardinal awaited him.

Adjoined to the Palazzo were arcades, their columned passages leading to the old palace galleries, now given over largely to the exhibition of art. Cardinal Kalixtus was counted among the great patrons of the age, a steadfast benefactor of painters, sculptors, architects, and garden-masters—most notably in Florence, Pisa, and Milan. Works from schools, ateliers, and academies were frequently dispatched to Rome or displayed within the Cardinal’s many residences, sometimes sold, sometimes gifted, but always selected with a curator’s eye and a prince’s largesse.

To the observant, there was yet another sign of the Cardinal’s presence: white falcons in flight, ever arriving and departing from the palace. These were his messengers, his heralds of will—silent and swift. For those who knew, they confirmed without doubt: the Cardinal was here. The White Lion, as he was called. And Ferecide Buonaguidi would soon understand why.

_________________

[Ferecide]

Once Ferecide passed the gate, he got to see the wonderful palace that was presented to his eyes. He remained astonished by how this was a multisensory artistic experience: the gentle running of water stimulated his hearing like a symphony, the smell from the oranges and the flowers overwhelmed his nose with an harmony of perfumes, and his eyes... His eyes were so overwhelmed by how every detail that he set his look on that he wished to have all day to contemplate all the marvellous pieces of art. The dominant white marble expressed such a purity that only studying the Book of Virtues and in deep prayer his soul felt so at peace.

When he got near the fountain he stopped a minute:

This Poseidon statue has such symmetry and movement... Only from the best Ancient Greek sculptors from the IV and III centuries before Christos I have seen such perfection...

He then proceeded to take out a small scroll and with a small piece of coal he quickly copied the design of the statue.

I have to show this to my fellow faithful in Lodi. I am sure they will appreciate it.

Then still ecstatic from this multisensory experience, he got back to the reason he came here in first place. He got to the other guards and spoke to them with a gentle tone:

Brothers, may the Lord assist you in your duties every day and keep you safe from any peril. I have an appointment with H.E. Cardinal Kalixtus, do you know if he can meet me.

His mind was divided: part of him wanted to stay and admire the beauties he had just saw, another part of him wanted to see the interior to discover how could it balance such an exterior, and at last he really wanted to speak to the Cardinal - in part to present his projects to him, in part just out of curiosity to meet such a renowned man of Faith.

[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.

_________________

[Ferecide]

Ferecide followed the elegant servant slowly, mesmerized by the beautiful frescos and the immense sun on the domed ceiling, and immediately thought to himself that the author was probably a Master, somebody who had studied the technique for years.
But it was not only the frescos: Ferecide analyzed every single bit of furniture, art and especially the great portrait of the Cardinal, trying to understand who the authors were or from what academy they might have came from.

The light toned colours and the masterful use of light in the various halls he had seen were a clear indicator that nothing was random: every single detail was intentionally placed there, in that angle, and with that background. All the art manuals he had read could have been exemplified by what he was seeing.

Once out in the park the sensation was that of having reached the place where nature, as the Lord's creation, was perfectly interacting with human Reason: The flowers and the plants took the place of the furniture, and where equally perfect and balanced.

Still following the servant, he reached the pool, where he got to take a look at the master of the Palace: Cardinal Kalixtus. He was visually as pure and as elegant as his Palace. The only word that could describe him in Ferecide's head was: "Stunning". Near him an animal, which Ferecide had only seen in paintings and in book illustrations: a white lion.

Getting near Ferecide finally got to speak to the Cardinal:

Good morning Eminence, it's a pleasure to be here and meet you in person. I'm Father Ferecide. Thanks for inviting me, just entering this Palace and looking at all the pieces of art here are worth the trip. I'd like to come kiss your ring and pay my respects... But I wouldn't want to disturb the magnificent creature that lies besides you...

It was clear that Ferecide was more fascinated than scared of the Lion but still he didn't want to test his aggressiveness.

Anyway I brought some gifts for you from my hometown and from my personal library...

[Kalixtus]

From somewhere unseen, hidden deep within a remote corner of the park, came the faint strains of lutes and harps — gentle threads of sound, weaving themselves around a voice of crystalline clarity. Like an invisible tapestry, the music enveloped the scene that unfolded before the Cardinal.

“My falcons and my spiders have been observing you since the moment you passed through Rome’s city gate, Ferecide. Little escapes my gaze. Should you see white falcons circling above or pale spiders climbing the walls, know this: the eyes see all, the ears hear all — and their reports fly swiftly to the White Lion. Subtle signs mark the presence of my loyal ones throughout this city, for those who have learned to read them.”

Kalixtus had ceased caressing Anasari. He leaned closer and whispered in the lion’s ear:

« Va, mon astre éclatant, cherche le soleil comme le saint cherche le visage de Dieu. »

Anasari lifted his massive head. His glacial blue eyes turned to his master with a shadow of melancholy. Then he yawned — long, slow, and wide — revealing great, glinting teeth. Silently, the beast rose, passed by Ferecide without acknowledgment, and lay down upon the sunlit grass. There, the rays of the celestial sphere bathed him in golden light, as if touched by some divine hand. His fur caught the brilliance, reflecting it with a gentle, almost sacred glow.

Kalixtus let his gaze drift to the lion. The smile that softened his lips was suffused with quiet affection — tender, almost loving. Then, with a single fluid motion, the Cardinal rose: upright, elegant, poised. There was in his bearing the same feline grace, the same dignified ferocity, that lived in the great beast by his side. One understood, at that moment, why he was called the White Lion of Eros.

“Welcome to Doria-Pamphilj — my modest residence here in Rome.”
Modest, perhaps, when measured against the palaces of his duchy in Trier or Koblenz. Yet here, in the very heart of Rome, an estate of such breadth was rare, precious — and worthy.

He extended his hand for the customary kiss of the ring before gesturing toward the shaded pavilion. There, two crystal glasses stood waiting upon a silver table, already glinting with the promise of refreshment. The Cardinal filled them himself with chilled Limoncello — bright, golden, like sunlight poured into glass.

“Gifts always delight me. Though, I am told, people often struggle to find something suitable to offer. They are never quite certain what a man of my... stature might consider acceptable.”

His smile flickered — subtle, knowing.

“But the answer is quite simple: Time. Time shared, time joyfully squandered together — it is the greatest gift, for of all that we possess, time is the most precious. So rare, in fact, that we do not even know how much of it we truly hold.”

He raised his glass in a solemn salute.

“That is why every day, every hour, every minute — even the most fleeting instant — is as precious as eternity in the Paradisum.”

And he drank, slowly, savoring the cool sweetness upon his lips — a taste he never chose to resist.

_________________

[Ferecide]

After the majestic lion passed by him, Ferecide got to kiss the ring of the Cardinal and then listened to his words.

Eminence my gifts might not be the most elegant or the most expensive, but they're made from the depth of my heart. This

He took out of the bag a baked pie

This is a Tortjonata Lodigiana, a typical sweet from the town I serve in, Lodi. It's a sweet almond cake with a slight scent of lemon zest... It might be a good pairing with your lemoncello.

Then he took out three books from the bag and showing the heaviest one, a silver covered Writings of The Saints:

Most of my books I have bought from travelling merchants, and this is one I'm most fond of: It's a Volume of The Writings of The Saints with this beautiful engraved silver book cover. The merchant who sold it to me told me that it was handwritten by a Thomist Brother, but I don't recall the old Thomiste Order decorating book covers this way. But it's origin has no importance now. I brought it to you in sign of gratitude for having me here.

Then he put his hands on the other two books:

These are treatises on religious art by some old art academies. These I didn't intend to gift them to you as they are just simple artistic technique guides, but I brought them to show you some pages as examples for my project.

Then he listened to the words of the Cardinal about Time and he responded:

Dear Eminence as years pass, time always gets more precious in our minds and our souls. That's why I try to teach the youngest of my community to appreciate every minute we live.

Then he took the glass and took a small sip of lemoncello

As for time shared I must tell you that it's always a pleasure to meet men who have devoted their lives in service of our Holy Mother Church. And I hope that whatever way this meeting today ends, on your way to Germany, you'll consider coming to Lodi in my much humbler home to spend some time together praying and discussing Art and Theology. Would you like me to cut the Tortjonataso that you can try it paired with your delicious lemoncello?

Then Ferecide opened one of the art books:

Now that I think of it, I remember where I saw a similar fresco to the one you have inside
He opened one of the art books showing a drawing inside of a fresco similar to the one he saw before:

See, this in the Archbishops palace in Genoa... The style is similar, but in Genoa it is much smaller if I remember correctly.

[Kalixtus]

“Ferecide, fili carissime…”

He places a hand on his shoulder, speaking with a warm voice, as one truly moved.

Nihil est pretiosius quam donum cordis puri. Your gifts – though neither adorned in gold nor elevated by worldly splendor – shine brighter than any gilded chalice. For, as Fathers of the Church once wrote: ‘In voluntate, non in re, caritas consistit.’ – Love lies in the intention, not in the object.

You bring me a Tortjonata Lodigiana…! A name that rings like a cantata of almonds and lemon light. What a delicate hymn from your homeland! In its encounter with my humble limoncello – a relic from my youth in southern Latium – it becomes a small feast of life, an epiklesis gustativa, a culinary invocation of the sacred.

And then… the book with the writings of the Saints. Bound in silver, heavy with thought, shaped by a hand long turned to dust, yet whose spirit lives on through your offering. The dead live on, so long as memory holds them. You have not merely given me a book – you have handed me a voice. Perhaps it will speak to me in the silent hours.

As for time… Time flies – eternity remains. But, my son, precisely because it flees, each hour is sacred. He who teaches the young the value of a minute shapes souls, not just minds. You are not only a priest, Ferecide – you are a quiet architect of the eternal. Qui seminant in lacrimis, in exsultatione metent. Those who sow in tears shall reap in joy.

And behold: your project, these studies on religious art… they make my heart beat faster. For theology is not only text, but also form, color, space. Beauty is the radiance of truth. If you help me capture that truth upon walls, you will be writing theology in light.

Your invitation to Lodi? I accept it – not as a prince, but as a brother. There we shall speak of God and art, of life and death, of the unspeakable. And when the day wanes, perhaps we’ll share a final glass beneath lemon trees. Non est mortale quod opto. For what I hope from you is not mortal.

But now, my dear, do cut the cake. Let us taste the grace that dwells in simplicity. And open the book from Genoa – I feel already that the breath of the Spirit once moved the painter’s hand, just as your eyes recognized it again.

Then he raises his glass, looks at Ferecide, and says in a low voice:

“Ad multos annos, Ferecide. Et utinam semper tales amici conveniant in nomine Domini.”
(To many years, Ferecide. And may such friends always meet in the name of the Lord.)

_________________

[Ferecide]

A shiver ran down the spine of Ferecide as the Cardinal's hand got on his shoulder, as if his body and soul immediately relaxed and felt a deep connection to him:
I am really glad you appreciated my small gifts, and I assure you I can't wait to have you in Lodi to show you my small but rich library.

He than proceeded to cut the Tortjonata and serve a piece to the Cardinal:
I'm sure you'll like this... It's the coronation of the natural gifts of our region, mixed and cooked in a way that amplifies the sweetness of the almonds and the perfume from the lemon zest

Next he opened the Art book he brought with him:
See, here in this drawing we have a similar fresco to the one you've got in the hall... The style is slightly different as this uses less Chiaro Scuro technique, so it doesn't amplify the contrast between the light and the darkness, so the the "Ascension" is less astonishing, but still we're talking about masterpieces. When I immagined a visual experience for the visitor of the museums, I thought of a similar effect but I think the artist might want to add more light games to emphasize the concepts of the Solar Paradise and the Ascension in it.

Speaking of my ideas for the museums, my idea would be to turn them to a cultural center where art from all over the world should be exposed. I would start by proposing our patronage to single artists and collaboration deals with art academies.

Art is a perfect mix of Faith and Reason: Faith in the sacred inspiration and beauty of ideas, reason in the masterful technique. What best way to unite Faith and Reason, Christos and Aristotle in one single action? And where is the best place to honor this unique marriage if not in the Museums of the Eternal City?

Artists were gifted by the Lord the ability to represent the beauty of his creations, why shouldn't we reach out to them to invite them to put their gift in service of our Holy Church, the only institution who's duty is to spread it's prophets words?

My idea in the long term would be to have a series of illustrations, paintings, sculptures and poetries to accompany the path through the Holy Writings of the faithful who approaches them, to explain and represent it's content in the most beautiful way possible.

Then he raised the glass with the Cardinal responding:

To many years...

[Kalixtus]

His long nails, shaped into graceful crescents, reached elegantly for the piece of pastry, which he then brought to his lips with a languid motion. With the first bite, he immediately discerned that the pastry was based on an exquisitely beaten dough, within which whole roasted almonds were nestled, harmoniously interwoven. The contrasting textures lent the confection its distinctive character. A hint of lemon unfolded delicately in the aftertaste, its flavour draping itself across tongue and palate like a nightgown—an unspoken invitation to indulge in yet another bite. The pastry called to mind a refreshing interpretation of marzipan, and the Cardinal found himself increasingly pleased. His lips curved into a benevolent smile.

"A veritable sin you’ve served me here. I am tempted to ban it altogether."
The remark, of course, was meant in jest. The Cardinal took a sip of Limoncello, which—by happy chance—paired brilliantly with the dessert. Or perhaps not by chance at all, for under God’s grand grace, there were no such things as coincidences. All things were subject to the pleasure of His interwoven design. These were signs Kalixtus knew how to read. He recognised when God, through the ether, intended the fates to entwine, and he did not resist it.

For the time being, the Cardinal resisted the urge to reach for another of those sinful delicacies. All who knew him were well aware of his fondness for such modest indulgences.

The palace had once belonged to Pope Innocentius, who—much like himself—had been a lover of the arts and had commissioned lavish frescoes for the main house. The many statues adorning the main portal and the grand façade also sprang from his vision. Kalixtus, for his part, had introduced more of nature to the residence—had brought in the element of water, commissioned arcades, and purchased neighbouring estates to unify them. He was, by inclination, prone to expanding his dominion.

Kalixtus chuckled softly, amused, as he surveyed the paintings. As was his habit, he let his bejewelled fingers drift over the artistic renderings. He studied the imagery with evident expertise.

"Are you thinking of exhibitions around specific themes? I envision two each year—one for the Easter celebrations, and another at Christmastide. Events that revolve around these sacred seasons. Ceremonial exhibitions, replete with guests and artists. These are to be special occasions."

He paused briefly.

"We need more.
New portraits of our active cardinals.
Portraits of those who came before.
A hall of honour, to commemorate the departed cardinals and popes.
I can imagine a representation of the Papal States, in conjunction with the Chancellery.
I can imagine collaboration with the Congregations, with both the religious and military Orders."

"Museums provide the setting for such occasions. They render the sacred visible—beautiful, comprehensible—and in so doing, they serve God through art, music, pageantry, and much more besides."

He looked up.

"I also believe we should seek cooperation with the CSO, to create visual representations of the saints for each hagiography."

A brief, confirming glance.

"The idea involving Christos and Aristotle—I find it intriguing. Elaborate on the event. What exactly do you envision?"

Then, with the gravity of a man accustomed to speaking from the centre of the world, he declared:

"I am known for events of the grandest scale. The royal houses of the continent attend my gatherings. And when the stage is Rome—the heart of the Aristotelian world—then we must be nothing short of immaculate.
Our aim must be to draw as many as possible to the city and to show them that Rome and Aristotelianism are a living, beating heart.
Rome as the Eternal City: this feeling must be awakened in every soul who visits. The sanctity of the place, its power, its dignity, its splendour—all must be reflected in our events."

He continued, now once more the strategist:

"The museums are a vital element in the representation of our faith and of the dignity of our world. These institutions have gathered dust. It is said that we must build much anew—and invest great energy in doing so."

"To find artists. Appoint them. Guide them.
To find staff. Train them. Coordinate them."

He leaned back slightly, his voice firm and lucid:

"There is much to be done. So let me speak with absolute clarity:
If you choose this path, you will receive great freedom—but also great responsibility."

"To work for me is to be active. Curious. Creative. Agile.
I demand perfection and diligence, because I demand them of myself."

One last, searching look:

"Do you see yourself in these things?"

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[Ferecide]

Ferecide was delighted seeing the Cardinal enjoy the Tortjonata, and he pleasantly smiled at the jesting words about it.

This is a pie that must be eaten by wise men... anybody else will easily fall in Azazel's arms.

Then he proceeded to listen to the Cardinal giving him objectives, ideas and direction.

Eminence I understand perfectly what you're asking me. I think that the two exhibitions a year, in the most sacred periods of the year would be perfect, giving us time to prepare for the most important moments in the Museums' Calendar.

He then proceeded to write down on his small booklet: Portraits of active Cardinals, and those who came before. Renewal of the Hall of Honour; representation of the Papal States.

Sir, I think every branch of our Holy Mother Church, exactly as branches of a Tree, can collect and redistribute the nutrients, in this case ideas, proposals and discussion, to the tree itself. The Museums are just another branch that needs to be rivitalized as for now it has very few leaves on it. So you can imagine my idea on collaboration with Congregations, Religious and Military Orders.

The Museums must be the greatest artistic and Contemplative experience in the whole world. We're in Rome, Caput mundi, no small or incomplete work can be done here: I am aiming for perfection, grandeur and richness in both technique, and divine inspiration.

The idea of a series of works of art on the lives of the prophets comes from the necessity, in my opinion to have complementary experience to the reading of the Sacred Texts, like a visual Pastoral Prima and Maxima. Many students come to Rome to study to get baptized or to enter the Clergy, where else could we ever show them this if not in the Pontifical Museums?
Maybe in a permanent exhibition that will become a place where any faithful should want to come at least once in a lifetime.

I know it's a lot of work to do, and I am willing to invest heart and soul in this project. Obviously the first part will be organizing the staff : I am thinking of a General Secretary and maybe a couple of Magisters to start with. Next step would be working on creating a network of artists from around the world to start working effectively.



He then listened to these words: