gone. I tell you this so that you may understand why these
people here share your -applause with me.”
A wave of assenting sound.
‘The art of mind sculpturethe creation of artificial per-
sonalities for aesthetic enjoymentmay never reach such a
pinnacle again. For you should understand that as Jerom
Bosch you had no talent for music at all; indeed, we searched
a long time to find a man who was utterly unable to carry
even the simplest tune. Yet we were able to impose upon
such unpromising material not only the personality, but the
genius, of a great composer. That genius belongs entirely to
youto the persona that thinks of itself as Richard Strauss.
None of the credit goes to the man who volunteered for the
sculpture. That is your triumph, and we salute you for it.”
Now the ovation could no longer be contained. Strauss,
with a crooked smile, watched Dr. Kris bow. This mind sculp-
turing was a suitably sophisticated kind of cruelty for this
age; but the impulse, of course, had always existed. It was
the same impulse that had made Rembrandt and Leonardo
turn cadavers into art works.
It deserved a suitably sophisticated payment under the lex
talionis: an eye for an eye, a tooth for a toothand a failure
for a failure.
No, he need not tell Dr. Kris that the “Strauss” he had
created was as empty of genius as a hollow gourd. The joke
would always be on the sculptor, who was incapable of hear-
ing the hollowness of the music now preserved on the 3-V
tapes.
But for an instant a surge of revolt poured through his
blood stream. I am I, he thought. I am Richard Strauss until I