Chap­ter II – For Greater Things begins with a grow­ing ten­sion in Vien­na, as Paul Kost­ka and John Bilin­s­ki real­ize that Stanis­laus had not returned home. They were famil­iar with his qui­et but res­olute nature, and his recent talk about leav­ing for Augs­burg weighed heav­i­ly on their minds. The real­iza­tion struck that this was not a mere absence—it was an escape. His admi­ra­tion for Peter Can­i­sius, the Jesuit provin­cial, and his open long­ing to join the Soci­ety of Jesus had not gone unno­ticed. Though they had pre­vi­ous­ly dis­missed his inten­tions as youth­ful dreams, Stanislaus’s dis­ap­pear­ance con­firmed their fears. The Jesuit col­lege in Augs­burg became the log­i­cal des­ti­na­tion, and with urgency, they pre­pared to pur­sue him. But day­light had fad­ed, and trav­el at night was unsafe, forc­ing them to wait until morn­ing. Their frus­tra­tion grew as their host, Sen­a­tor Kim­berk­er, agreed to join them, lend­ing fur­ther seri­ous­ness to the search.

At first light, they set out, deter­mined to inter­cept Stanis­laus before he reached his goal. Their jour­ney took them along roads that twist­ed through the coun­try­side, search­ing inns and rely­ing on word of mouth for clues. At one rest stop, they dis­cov­ered that Stanis­laus had indeed been there—but the land­lord, per­haps out of sym­pa­thy or pru­dence, chose silence. Despite their ques­tions and offers, no use­ful infor­ma­tion was pro­vid­ed. Just when their hopes began to fade, they spot­ted a boy walk­ing along a path, dressed like a peas­ant but with a famil­iar gait. Paul felt a sud­den jolt of recog­ni­tion. Though Bilin­s­ki and Kim­berk­er dis­missed the fig­ure as a mere trav­el­er, Paul’s instincts told him oth­er­wise. He ordered the car­riage stopped and ran after the boy down a nar­row lane.

But their efforts met resistance—both lit­er­al­ly and spir­i­tu­al­ly. The hors­es refused to move, spooked by an unseen force, and the car­riage rocked vio­lent­ly as if to throw them off course. A heavy still­ness fell over the group, and Paul, shak­en, inter­pret­ed the moment as a sign that divine pow­er was pro­tect­ing Stanis­laus. Against every urge to press for­ward, they turned back, con­vinced that fur­ther pur­suit would be futile. That moment—where nature itself seemed to intercede—became a turn­ing point, reveal­ing the spir­i­tu­al grav­i­ty of Stanislaus’s jour­ney. They returned to Vien­na emp­ty-hand­ed, bur­dened by fail­ure and the sense that some­thing far greater was at work than they could under­stand or con­trol.

While his pur­suers were halt­ed, Stanis­laus pressed on, unde­terred and filled with peace. He had avoid­ed the main roads, trav­el­ing through forests and along small streams to avoid detec­tion. When need­ed, he relied on the char­i­ty of strangers, who were moved by his sin­cer­i­ty and deter­mi­na­tion. Each step he took was marked not by fear, but by deep con­vic­tion that he was walk­ing toward a high­er call­ing. His escape wasn’t mere­ly an act of defiance—it was a tes­ta­ment to courage root­ed in faith. Though still a teenag­er, he dis­played wis­dom and resilience well beyond his years. He car­ried noth­ing of val­ue, but his pres­ence inspired those he met, as if they sensed the sacred­ness of his mis­sion even with­out know­ing its full pur­pose.

Stanislaus’s jour­ney toward Augs­burg becomes a por­trait of spir­i­tu­al for­ti­tude. Alone and exposed to the ele­ments, he faced the uncer­tain­ty of the road with unshak­able trust. His goal was not com­fort or admiration—it was to fol­low the path he believed God had laid before him. That clar­i­ty gave him strength to endure phys­i­cal hard­ship and the emo­tion­al weight of aban­don­ing his home and fam­i­ly. His faith wasn’t the­o­ret­i­cal; it was lived out in aching feet, emp­ty stom­achs, and whis­pered prayers beneath the open sky. His pil­grim­age reflects the pro­found truth that divine call­ing often requires human sacrifice—and yet, through that sur­ren­der, some­thing beau­ti­ful is born.

This chap­ter reveals Stanis­laus not as a pas­sive recip­i­ent of grace but as an active seek­er of it. His spir­i­tu­al deter­mi­na­tion turns a sim­ple escape into an act of sanc­ti­ty. Each encounter, each silent mile, adds to the lega­cy that would one day inspire gen­er­a­tions. In turn­ing away from com­fort and secu­ri­ty, he moves clos­er to his true home—not just in Augs­burg, but in the heart of the divine pur­pose he was born to ful­fill.