About this time there appeared at Oxford a man whom William had already seen as a child and who even then made a deep impression on him. This was Thomas Loe, a follower of Fox, the Quaker whose teachings he was endeavoring to spread throughout the country. He had visited Ireland for this purpose and, doubtless at the suggestion of Sir William’s pious lady, was asked to hold a meeting at their house. The eleven-year-old William never forgot the effect produced by this sermon. Even his father, not usually susceptible to religious feeling, was moved to tears, and the boy thought what a wonderful place the world would be if all were Quakers.
Now that this same Thomas Loe had come to Oxford, what could be more natural than that the young zealot, already roused to opposition and imbued with Puritan ideas, should attend these Quaker meetings with companions of a like mind? Strengthened in his childish impressions and convinced that divine truth was embodied in Loe’s teachings, Penn and his friends refused to attend the established form of service, with its ceremonies, for which they openly expressed their abhorrence and contempt. He was called to account and punished by the college authorities for this and for attending the Quaker meetings, but it only added fuel to the flame. Indignant at this so-called violation of their principles, against the injustice of which they felt it a sacred duty to rebel, they began to hold meetings among themselves for devotional exercises, and only awaited a pretext for open revolt. This was soon furnished by an order from the King prescribing the wearing of collegiate gowns by the students. The young reformers not only refused to wear them, but even went so far as to attack those who did and tear the objectionable garments off from them by force—a proceeding which naturally led to their expulsion after an official examination, during which Penn had spoken boldly and unreservedly in his own and his companions’ defence.
The effect of this on the worldly and ambitious father may easily be imagined. He had looked to his eldest son, on whom he had built such high hopes, to carry on his aspiring schemes after his own death, and totally unable to comprehend how a mere youth could be so carried away by religious enthusiasm, the disgrace of William’s expulsion from the university was a bitter blow to his pride. It was but a cold reception therefore that the young man met with on his return to the paternal roof. For a long time his father refused even to see him, and when he did it was only to overwhelm him with the bitterest reproaches. He sternly commanded him to abandon his absurd religious beliefs and break off all communication with his Oxford associates, and when William respectfully but firmly refused to do this until he should be convinced of their absurdity, the admiral, accustomed as an officer to absolute obedience, flew into such a passion that he seized his cane and ordered his degenerate son out of the house.
On calmer reflection, however, he became convinced of the uselessness of such severity, for William, he discovered, though moping about, dejected and unhappy, was still keeping up a lively correspondence with his Quaker friends, so he resolved to try other methods. Knowing by experience the power of worldly pleasures to divert the mind of youth and drown serious thought in the intoxication of the senses, he determined to resort to this dangerous remedy for his son, whose ideas of life, to his mind, needed a radical change. He therefore arranged for William to join a party of young gentlemen of rank who were about to set out on a tour of the continent, first visiting France and its gay capital, reckoning shrewdly that constant association with young companions so little in sympathy with Quaker ideas and habits would soon convert his son to other views. Or if this perhaps did not fully accomplish the purpose, the allurements of Paris, where King Louis the Fourteenth and his brilliant court set such an example of luxury and licentiousness, could not fail to complete the cure.
Little to young Penn’s taste as was this journey, and especially the society in which he was to make it, he did not care to renew his father’s scarcely cooled anger by opposing it, nor was life at home under existing circumstances especially pleasant or comfortable. He yielded therefore without protest to his father’s wishes and set out for Paris with the companions chosen for him, well provided with letters of introduction which would admit him to the highest circles of French society.
The correctness of the admiral’s judgment proved well founded, and the associations into which he had thrown his son only too well fitted to work the desired change. In spite of his inward resistance young Penn found himself drawn into a whirl of gayety and pleasure for which he soon grew to have more and more fondness and which left him no time for serious thought. He was presented to the King and became a welcome and frequent guest at that dissolute court. The life of license and luxury by which he was surrounded and against which he had almost ceased to struggle failed, however, entirely to subdue his better nature, as the following incident will show.
Returning late one evening from some gathering wearing a sword, as French custom demanded, his way was suddenly stopped by a masked man who ordered him to draw his sword, demanding satisfaction for an injury. In vain Penn protested his innocence of any offence and his ignorance even of the identity of his accuser, but the latter insisted that he should fight, declaring Penn had insulted him by not returning his greeting. The discussion soon attracted a number of auditors, and under penalty of being dubbed a coward by refusing to cross swords with his adversary, Penn was obliged to yield. But if, as is not unlikely, the whole affair was planned by his comrades to force him to use arms, a practice forbidden among the Quakers, the youth who undertook the role of challenger was playing rather a dangerous game; for among his other acquirements Penn had thoroughly mastered the art of fencing and quickly succeeded in disarming his adversary. Instead of pursuing his advantage, however, as the laws of duelling permitted, the spectators were astonished to see him return the rapier with a courtly bow to his discomfited foe and silently withdraw. He might yield to the prevailing custom so far as to draw his sword, but his conscience would not permit him to shed human blood.
THE DUEL
It was with the greatest satisfaction that Sir William learned of the change that had been wrought in his son, and to make it yet more permanent and effectual he ordered him to remain abroad, extending his travels to other countries. He was now in a position to afford this, as through the favor of the King’s brother, the Duke of York, he had received an important and lucrative post in the admiralty, but he would gladly have made any sacrifice to have his son return the kind of man he wished him to be. But the father’s hopes ran too high. Although outwardly become a man of the world, William had by no means lost all serious purpose in the vortex of Parisian life, for he spent some time at Saumur, on the Loire, attracted thither by the fame of Moses Amyrault, a divine, under whose teaching he remained for some time and of whom he became a zealous adherent. From there, by his father’s orders, he travelled through various parts of France and then turned his steps toward Italy in order to become as familiar with the language as he already had with French, and to cultivate his taste in art by a study of the rich treasures of that country.