Finally, one day he sends down word of an announcement. We all gather round, down to the lowest stagehand. Pal worms his way forward, sniffing. The shops are quiet. Freund and the Kestrel work within a circle of spectators. Some of the female extras, chorus girls, push forward from the back, tittering and shoving. Pommer murmurs, “A little more virginity, ladies.” Then all is quiet.

In a low voice as he works, Freund explains a new version of a gyroscope that’s electronically controlled. The mechanism operates off a carpenter’s level with triggers on both ends: as the bubble moves off center, electrical impulses send more or less power, as needed, to the small balancing motors.

A test: we all hold our breath. The housing still jiggles. Wait—one trigger not working. An adjustment. Freund climbs into his basket, and the mechanism is lowered onto his lap. Together they’re hoisted to the top of the suspension bridge, everyone taking a turn on the ropes.

The stagehands wait for his signal.

Down he swings, his eye to the eyepiece.

Herlth, Röhrig, Mayer, Pommer, myself—everyone surges forward, waiting. At the end of the cable, the basket sways back and forth, tipping slightly. Freund’s face is still screwed to the eyepiece.

“Here it is,” he says quietly.

The Kestrel laughs, his laugh on the order of a seizure. It’s the only sound anyone makes before a roar goes up from everyone.

Freund’s Verdict has to be confirmed by the rushes. It is, that night.

After that, our giddiness sends him and his camera everywhere: up a swaying fireman’s ladder. Down an open lift. Around on a bicycle. Across great expanses on a rubber-wheeled trolley. There’s so much cheering and laughter on the set that visitors believe us to be drunk.

And finally we propose as another vehicle Freund’s stomach, with the batteries on his back as a counterweight. “It’s too heavy,” he protests. “I’ll hurt my back.” Nonsense, we tell him. We strap it on and he sets about the lot, weaving and tripping. He follows Jannings like a shadow, bending, twisting, and leaning. Within a quarter of an hour, he’s hurt his back.