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."