When I was present at the rehearsals of _Roma_ two years later and first heard the work played at sight by the artists of the Opéra conducted with an extraordinary art by that master Leon Jehin, I thought of the coincidence that these pages had been written on the spot so near where they were to be played. When I returned to Paris in April, after the sumptuous fêtes with which the Oceanographic Museum was opened, I received a call from Raoul Gunsbourg. He came in the name of his Serene Highness to learn whether I had a work I could let him have for 1912. _Roma_ had been finished for some time; the material for it was all ready, and in consequence I could promise it to him and wait two years more. I offered it to him. My custom, as I have said, is never to speak of a work until it is entirely finished, and the materials which are always important are engraved and corrected. It is a considerable task, for which I want to thank my dear publishers, Henri Heugel and Paul-Émile Chevalier, as well as my rigid correctors at the head of whom I love to place Ed. Laurens, a master musician. If I insist on this, it is because up to now, nothing has been able to prevent the persistence of this formula, "M. Massenet is hurrying to finish his score in order to be ready for the first performance." Let us record it and get on! It was not until December, 1911, that the rehearsals of the artists in _Roma_ began at Raoul Gunsbourg's, Rue de Rivoli. It was fine to see our great artists enamored of the teachings of Gunsbourg who lived the rôles and put his life into it in putting them on the stage. Alas for me! An accident put me in bed at the beginning of those impassioned studies. However, every evening from five to seven I followed from my bed, thanks to the telephone, the progress of the rehearsals of _Roma_. The idea of not being able, perhaps, to go to Monte Carlo bothered me, but finally my excellent friend, the eminent Dr. Richardière, authorized my departure. On January 29 my wife and I started for that country of dreams. At the station in Lyons, an excellent dinner! A good sign. Things look well. The night, always fatiguing in a train, was endured by means of the joy of the future rehearsals. Things looked better! The arrival in my beloved room at the Prince de Galles. An intoxication. Things look better still! What an incomparable health bulletin, is it not? Finally, the reading of _Roma_, in Italian with the orchestra, artists and chorus. There were so many fine, kindly manifestations, that I paid for my warm emotions by catching cold. What a contrast; what irony! However why be surprised? Are not all contrasts of that kind?