making himself clear to himself; as I have already remarked, he wanted to find what it was he wanted to be at and how to get there; and if, having achieved his end, he had put all his pages of reasoning in the fire, he would have done himself no ill-service.  But he needed money, and in the ’forties and ’fifties there were, strangely enough, numbers of people who would pay money for such stuff.  Anything dull, “philosophic” in tone, anything full of long words, longer sentences, and meanings too profound to be understood by mortal—­anything of this sort was sure of a paying audience, if small, in “philosophic” Germany, no matter how fallacious were the premises, how wrong the history, how perverse the inferences.  Hundreds of people must have risen from reading Wagner’s essays feeling themselves very deeply intellectual.  In his first Paris days Wagner had at once flown to his prose-scribbling pen as an instrument to procure him bread; now, in Zurich, while writing and arguing mainly to free his own soul, he had an eye on the publisher and the public, for he needed bread as much as ever he had needed it; and he needed other things besides:  all the luxuries he had grown accustomed to and could have done without ten years earlier.  He persuaded himself of the validity of another reason why he should unload his prose-wares on the world.  He had written much at times in various papers with a wholehearted wish to purify and advance art.  Now he determined to be himself John the Baptist walking, in defiance of the laws of nature, miles in front of himself in the wilderness, crying out that he who was to redeem German music and the German folk was coming.  He actually persuaded himself, I say, that by reading these lucubrations German audiences would prepare themselves to understand his works—­as yet in process of incubation—­at a first hearing!  Fools we are, and slight; but surely no man was ever a bigger fool than our poor Richard when he thought that a great work of art could possibly or should be understood at the first glance, and that the feat would be easy if only one had read some theories of art beforehand.  The contrary holds true:  if you have seen and felt Wagner’s operas, you may understand what he is talking about in his articles and pamphlets; but to read these first is merely to bewilder yourself utterly when you go to see the operas.  I will dismiss, therefore, much of the prose with very brief notice, and some of it without any notice at all.  It may be remarked that of all the commentaries I have waded through (and been well-nigh choked with), on the prose, there is, to my mind, only one worth reading, Mr. Ernest Newman’s valuable Study of Wagner.