this is our gain, even if the gain is not great.  The Representation of Chaos is a curious bit of music, less like chaos than an attempt to write music of the Bruneau sort a century too soon; but it serves.  The most magnificent passage in the oratorio immediately follows, for there is hardly a finer effect in music than that of the soft voices singing the words, “And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters,” while the strings gently pulse; and the fortissimo C major chord on the word “light,” coming abruptly after the piano and mezzo-forte minor chords, is as dazzling in its brilliancy to-day as when it was first sung.  The number of unisons, throwing into relief the two minor chords on C and F, should be especially noted.  The chorus in the next number is poor, matched with this, though towards the end (see bars 11 and 12 from the finish) Haydn’s splendid musicianship has enabled him to redeem the trivial commonplace with an unexpected and powerful harmonic progression.  The work is singularly deficient in strong sustained choruses.  “Awake the harp” is certainly very much the best; for “The heavens are telling” is little better than Gounod’s “Unfold, ye everlasting portals” until the end, where it is saved by the tremendous climax; and “Achieved is the glorious work” is mostly mechanical, with occasional moments of life.  As for the finale, it is of course light opera.  On the whole the songs are the most delightful feature of the “Creation,” and the freshness of “With verdure clad,” and the tender charm of the second section of “Roaming in foaming billows,” may possibly be remembered when Haydn is scarcely known except as an instrumental composer.  The setting of “Softly purling, glides on, thro’ silent vales, the limpid brook” is indeed perfect, the phrase at the repetition of “Thro’ silent vales” inevitably calling up a vision, not of a valley sleeping in the sunlight, for of sunlight the eighteenth century apparently took little heed, but of a valley in the dark quiet night, filled with the scent of flowers, and the far-off murmur of the brook vaguely heard.  The humour of the oratorio consists chiefly of practical jokes, such as sending Mr. Andrew Black (or some other bass singer) down to the low F sharp and G to depict the heavy beasts treading the ground, or making the orchestra imitate the bellow of the said heavy beasts, or depicting the sinuous motion of the worm or the graceful gamboling of the leviathan.  It has been objected that the leviathan is brought on in sections.  The truth, of course, is that the clumsy figure in the bass is not meant to depict the leviathan himself, but his gambolings and the gay flourishings of his tail.  It is hard to sum up the “Creation,” unless one is prepared to call it great and never go to hear it.  It is not a sublime oratorio, nor yet a frankly comic oratorio, nor entirely a dull oratorio.  After considering the songs, the recitatives, the choruses, in detail, it really seems to contain very little.  Perhaps it may be described as a third-rate oratorio, whose interest is largely historic and literary.