IN THE HOUSE OF KIMBERKER
The house which the Jesuits in Vienna used for their boarding
college was not theirs. It belonged to the Emperor Ferdinand I, who
had merely loaned it to them. Now the Emperor Ferdinand had died on
July 25, 1564, the day before Paul and Stanislaus came to Vienna.
The new Emperor, Maximilian II, left the house with the Jesuits for
a time; but in March, 1565, withdrew it from their use. Of course,
that meant the breaking up of the boarding-school. The Fathers still
had their own residence, and they could teach a small number of day
scholars. Many of their pupils went to their homes when they could
no longer live with the Jesuits. Those who remained had to take
lodgings elsewhere in the city.
It was decided that Paul and Stanislaus should be amongst the latter
number. At once Bilinski set out with the two to get a house. In
the Platz Kiemark, a fashionable quarter of the town, there was a
splendid mansion, belonging to a Lutheran noble, the Senator
Kimberker.
It took Paul's fancy immensely. On inquiry, they found that
Kimberker used less than half of the house, for it was a huge
building with many rooms, and that he was more than willing to rent
the unused rooms to the young Poles. Stanislaus felt a little ill
at ease over living with a Lutheran. But Bilinski and Paul pooh-
poohed at his fears, and had their own way in the matter.
So in a few days they moved in, and fitted up a couple of the vacant
rooms. Stanislaus was to live more than two years in this house,
two years filled with a great deal of annoyance and pain, and yet
blessed in wonderful ways. His difficulties began almost at once,
and they were no slight difficulties. Of course, he and Paul went
daily for classes to the Jesuits' house, and met daily the few boys
who continued their studies in Vienna. But the old companionship,
the old life of the boys in common, was gone. Only two or three of
his best friends remained, and these were scattered through the
city. He saw them for a little while after classes, he might now and
then go out with them on a holiday. But for the most part he was
thrown back upon the company of his tutor and his elder brother.
Both Paul and Bilinski liked a good time." They were far removed
from the authority of home. Bilinski, who was in charge, was only a
few years older than Paul; and whilst a good fellow in the main, was
little able, or perhaps little willing, to put much check upon him.
And Paul was a pretty gay blade. Rough, boisterous, wild in manner,
he picked companions like himself. Kimberker' 5 house soon became a
noisy place. There were dinners at which the wine went round very
freely, plenty of cards and dice, now and then brawling quarrels.
It did not suit Stanislaus at all. He was too much of a gentleman,
and too good, to act unpleasantly or resent the rough company that
Paul brought home. But he could not mix freely with them, he did
not like their talk or their manners, and he slipped quietly away
from their noisy gatherings as soon as he decently could.
And so he was left alone; and lonesomeness for a boy of fourteen is
a very unpleasant thing. He still did well in his classes, but he
was no book-worm. When he had done his duty in study, the books had
no further claim upon him, and no attraction in themselves. And yet
he kept up his wonderful brightness and cheeriness all the time; so
that Bilinski often wondered at him. And it was worth wondering at,
for there is nothing, as everybody knows, which sooner breaks down
one's spirits and brings on the blue devils than being left alone,
without friends and companionship.
How did he do it? The fact is, he refused to be alone. As his
friends in Vienna left him, he simply turned more to his friends in
heaven. And heaven came down to him. Any old vacant room in the
big, half-empty house was his chapel. And through the long, lonely
days, often through great part of the night, he prayed.
If you could have seen him pray! Imagine any good-hearted boy who
has been away from home for a long stretch, say a couple of years,
and who comes back and meets father, mother, brothers, sisters. He
may not say much, but he LOOKS a good deal, and he feels more than
any words can say. That is the way Stanislaus prayed. He just
turned to God and his Mother in heaven, with all his love in his
eyes and immense happiness in his heart. And if he spoke, or said
things to them in his mind, he could speak simply, like a little
child, because no one else would hear him and he would not need be
shy or bashful.
If you could have seen him pray, you would never think, as so many
do, that praying is a gloomy business. His face was lit up, his
eyes bright, his whole body spoke of peace and courage and joy. He
kept thinking so much about heaven that he seemed to live there in
advance. Everybody knows how, when the school year is nearly over
and vacations are at hand, there is a joyful atmosphere about the
days. Lessons do not seem so hard, though they really are just the
same old lessons. Classes seem to have more life and spirit in
them. Boys are in better temper. Every detail of work and play is
colored by expectation, as if the relief of vacation were already
foretasted. Stanislaus looked forward just that way to the Great
Vacation, to going Home forever. He knew that even the longest
life. ends soon, that all its difficulties and troubles pass away
and eternity begins; and he felt so light-hearted looking ahead to
that eternity that nothing happening here could sadden him - except
sin, and he kept away from that.
Paul and his boisterous fellows thought that Paul's younger brother
was a queer chap. But they liked him, just the same, because he was
always pleasant and smiling. He never said a word to them about
their conduct. But when they talked to him, he naturally spoke of
the things he was always thinking about. And they did not like
that. Such talk tended to stir up their consciences, even to
frighten them. And they did not want their con-sciences stirred up.
You can often see that. You may have noticed in yourself that, if
you are not living as you ought to live, any word about God or death
or heaven or our Blessed Lady irritates you, makes you feel horribly
uncomfortable. And so Stanislaus became a puzzle to them, because
they would not see. And little by little they left him alone, or
only spoke to him to tease him or make fun of him.