During the performance of this penance he was by some means attracted to the society of a lay-brother in the monastery, and in the intervals of his penitential exercises had many conversations with him. This lay-brother, a truly spiritual man, perceiving in Romuald signs of a vocation to the religious life, strongly urged him to forsake the world altogether and at once. For this, however, Romuald was not yet prepared, and, without absolutely rejecting the advice of his friend, yet resisted, and put him off from day to day. At last one day in the course of a talk upon the visions of the Saints, the lay-brother asked him what he would give for a sight of the blessed martyr Apollinaris, the patron of the monastery. Romuald replied that for such a favour he would consent to forsake the world. That same night watching in prayer in the monastery church, they beheld a supernatural brightness issue from the high altar and fill the whole church. This was the precursor of the appearance of the blessed martyr, who came forth from the midst of the high altar habited in priestly vestments, and with a golden censer in his hand; with this he went round the church and censed each altar in its turn; and having done this, retired as he had come, leaving the church once more in darkness. His friend immediately claimed the fulfilment of the promise. But even a second vision of the martyr failed to overcome his reluctance, and he still held off. But one day praying in the church before this very altar, a sudden access of the love of God came over his soul. In a moment all his fears, all his lingering affection for worldly things vanished; he hastened to the brethren, and humbly besought them to receive him as a novice. This, however, in dread of his father's resentment, they refused to do; Romuald, once resolved, would yield to no difficulties, and betook himself at once to the Archbishop of Ravenna, laid his case before him, and asked for his help. The Archbishop, moved by the earnestness and fervour of the youth, took up his cause, and on his assurances of protection against the violence of Sergius, the brethren consented to receive him; and Romuald entered upon the course from which throughout a long life he was never to swerve, in which his ardour was to know no cooling, and which was to end in peopling many of the solitary places of Italy with refugees from the wickedness and perils of, perhaps, the most troublous time which Europe has ever known.
He passed three years in this monastery in the strictest observance of S. Benedict's rule, in the daily practise of mortification, and incessant prayer. The greater part of the monks, however, were of a different mind. They bitterly resented both Romuald's literal interpretation of the monastic vow, and the rebukes of their laxity and unfaithfulness, which he did not hesitate to address to them; and at length, in their rage, conspired to murder him, by throwing him out of the dormitory window, near which it was his custom to pray in the early morning, while they were yet in their beds, and the door of the oratory was not yet open. Romuald, however, aware of their design, prayed that morning just as usual, and by the mere power of prayer, without other effort of his own, he escaped the threatened danger, and saved the brethren from the guilt which they meditated.
Soon after, hearing by report of one Marinus, who was leading a hermit life in a desert in the Venetian territory, he resolved to retire from the fruitless struggle with the unfaithful monks, and to place himself under his guidance. He made known his desire to the abbot and the brethren, and craved permission from them to retire from the community, and this was granted with great alacrity. He immediately made his way to the neighbourhood in which Marinus dwelt, found him out, and was accepted by him as his disciple.
Marinus, who was a man of singular simplicity of character, and most rigid in his asceticism, took in hand the training of his neophyte in good earnest. His first task was to teach Romuald to read; for up to the time of his forsaking the world his literary education had been altogether neglected. Master and pupil would go forth together to roam about the wild, and recite the Psalter, sheltering now under one tree, now under another, and sitting always face to face at their work. Romuald, wearied by incessant poring over his book, would sometimes yield to the overwhelming lassitude which came over him, and seek a moment's repose; on which Marinus would strike him smartly on the left side of his head with a roll which he held in his right hand. At last, quite unable to bear the pain, Romuald one day said to him humbly, "Master, if you please, strike me next time on the right side of my head, for I am becoming quite deaf in my left ear," "On which," says the biographer, "Marinus, marvelling at his patience, relaxed the indiscreet severity of his discipline."
Before long they were joined in their solitude by Peter, Duke of Dalmatia, and a comrade of his, who had been moved to embrace the religious life. Romuald who, in time, had mastered the difficulties of the Psalter, kept so far in advance of his companions in devotion, and in the acquisition of every virtue, that they unanimously deferred to him in everything, and even Marinus, his whilom master, now became his scholar, and submitted to his direction in everything. The whole party maintained themselves by bodily labour, cultivating a piece of ground, all the time fasting most rigidly, but, as it would appear, living together in one common dwelling. However, reading one day in the Lives of the Fathers, that certain of the brethren in old time had lived a solitary life, fasting the whole week through, but on Saturdays and Sundays met together and relaxed the rigour of their fast, they at once resolved to adopt this way of life; viz., to live each in his own hut, apart from the rest, in silence and mortification, for five days of the week, and to allow themselves the solace of community life only on the Saturday and Sunday; and thus they lived for the space of fifteen years.
Once, during this time, it is related that Duke Peter came to Romuald with a piteous complaint that he could not subsist on the half-cake,[24] which formed the daily allowance of the brethren, and urging that his huge and corpulent frame really required more sustenance. Whereupon Romuald, condescending to the weakness of a brother, and willing to hold out a helping hand to save him from falling, increased his allowance to three-quarters.
Another occurrence tended greatly to increase the reputation of the hermit Saint. A peasant farmer in the neighbourhood, who had often ministered of his subsistence to Romuald and the brethren, was robbed of his only cow by the dependents of a certain Count, a proud and arrogant man. The poor man came to Romuald bewailing his loss with many lamentations. Romuald at once sent a messenger to the Count, beseeching him in all humility to restore his beast to the poor man. The Count turned a deaf ear to the message, sent back a haughty and insolent reply, adding moreover that he expected highly to enjoy the cow's sirloin at dinner that very day. But he had better have yielded to Romuald; for at dinner-time the meal was set before him, he inhaled its rich savour with a greedy joy, and at the first mouthful was choked and died miserably.
Romuald's sojourn in the Venetian territory was brought to an end, by the death of several of his companions. On this he returned to the neighbourhood which he had left years before, and erected a cell for himself, in the marsh of Classe, in the place called "Pons Petri," removing it subsequently to the locality in which afterwards arose the church of the Blessed Martin "in sylva." Here he experienced many and violent temptations of the devil, who plied him sometimes with terrifying visions, sometimes with distressing doubts about the reality of his vocation, and his hope of final salvation. But as a good soldier of Jesus Christ he combated the evil one with the spiritual weapons of prayer and fasting, and meeting him boldly at every turn, repelled all his assaults.
After a while, he removed again to another place, where he built a monastery in honour of Michael the Archangel, which he peopled with monks, he himself still living solitary in his cell. While he was living here, a friend one day sent him a sum of money, about £21 sterling, intending it as a relief to his bodily necessities. He immediately sent off a portion of the money to the brethren of a monastery which had been just burnt down, to help towards the rebuilding, and put the remainder away for some similar purpose. This coming to the ears of the monks at S. Michael's they were so enraged that they came down to his cell in a body, gave him a good beating, and drove him from the neighbourhood with insults and reproaches. Highly delighted with their exploit, they returned to the monastery, and made preparations to celebrate the occasion by a great feast. But their triumph was short; for the ringleader in the attack on Romuald, on his way to obtain some honey to make mead for the carouse, had to cross a bridge which overhung a furious torrent; in the midst of the bridge something tripped him up, he stumbled, and falling headlong into the stream, perished by the just judgment of God; and that very night the rest of the monks were all but buried in the ruins of their dwelling, which fell upon them as they were sleeping heavily after their banquet, and bruises and broken bones convinced them that they had made a bad bargain in revolting against Romuald's severe rule.
After this, the martyr Apollinaris appeared to Romuald in a vision, and commanded him to return to Classis, and assume the government of the monastery there. He at once removed to the vicinity, probably taking up his quarters in his old cell. At this same time the brethren at the monastery being without an abbot were desired by the Emperor Otho III. to choose one for themselves. Their choice fell unanimously upon Romuald. The emperor himself went to announce his election to him, and to obtain his consent. He did not arrive at the cell until nightfall, and was glad to accept Romuald's invitation to spend the night there. The next morning the emperor broached the subject of the Abbacy. Romuald at first refused to listen to the proposal; but Otho threatening him with "excommunication and anathema from all the bishops and archbishops and the whole Synod of Council," he at last yielded, at the same time telling the emperor that the matter was by no means new to him, for that he had had a divine intimation of it some time before, and accompanied him to the monastery, where he was duly installed. Before long however, the brethren took offence at the severity of his rule, and began to repent of their choice. Perceiving this, Romuald, as eager to lay down his office as he had been backward to accept it, hastened to seek an interview with the emperor; and in his presence and that of the Archbishop of Ravenna, broke his rod of office, and formally dissolved the monastery, probably judging the traditions of laxity which had grown up in the place too strong to be disturbed except by the extirpation of the community.