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finally asked, but he said no, he was simply testing my sturdiness. “Very solid,” he said. “Fine workmanship.” He was about to undo the buttons on my waistcoat when Herr Edison called from the dining hall. (In this I feel fortunate, for nothing in my experience suggested what I ought to do had he persisted.)
    I believe the Master would have been content to continue his lively chat with Herr Edison in the absence of his companion; the two got on rather well, and were sharing their philosophies on the inventive process when Herr Ford entered, at which point the Master’s deep, boisterous voice grew quieter.
    It was my honor to personally serve the men their dinner of stuffed beef rolls, roasted potatoes, and spiced cabbage, seeing to their needs while they ate and talked. Throughout the dinner it became clear that the Master was unimpressed by Herr Ford, who talked, cumulatively, for one hour and twenty minutes about his horseless carriage—or “quadricycle,” as he called it—which he hoped to one day produce in large enough numbers to be commercially profitable. The idea amused the Master, who delighted in informing Herr Ford that several German inventors had already developed similar creations. Herr Ford conceded this point; however, he insisted his means of production, using assembly lines and interchangeable parts, would be the key to his success. The Master scoffed at this. “Where’s the
art
in it, my friend?” he asked.
    “I leave the art to artists such as yourself,” Herr Ford replied. “The working man would rather have something practical.”
    The Master took a long sip of his wine. “But if you make thousands of them, how can they be special?”
    The question seemed to stall Herr Ford, as he paused his chewing for a moment to consider. “Well, every man on his block will want to be the first to have one. I’d say that’s pretty special.”
    The Master merely grumbled and resumed eating.
    Over the course of the evening the Master’s irritation grew, particularly when Herr Ford expressed his dislike of Jews, and postulated his theories about a vast international political and economic Jewish conspiracy. (I once asked the Master to explain that particular distaste, which seems to be prevalent in our land. He merely sighed and replied, “I don’t understand it either.”)
    After dinner the Master and his two guests retired to the sitting room to smoke cigars and drink
Apfelwein
, and the mood seemed to relax. Herr Edison asked his coachmen to retrieve a large canvas-swaddled parcel from the carriage, directing them to set it next to the coffee table. He unveiled the package himself: a large cabinet of rough pine, angled on top like a cottage roof, with a small chrome eyepiece near its apex. Beaming, Herr Edison invited the Master to have a look. As Herr Edison instructed, the Master peered through the eyepiece for forty-five seconds, then straightened himself, a broad smile washing across his face. “Stunning,” he said.
    “We’re calling it a Kinetoscope,” Herr Edison said proudly. “We’ve been working on them for a while. Should be on the market in a year or two.”
    I was somewhat curious as the three men took turns gazing into the silvery eyepiece, at what the Master later described as the flickering image of a pony galloping across a pasture, ultimately leaping over a wooden fence. It must have been a fascinating sight, as the Master laughed with delight each time he peered into the lens.
    “It’s yours,” Herr Edison finally said to the Master, “in return for the privilege of meeting Ernst here, and for listening to a little proposition. You’d be the first person outside the company to have one. We brought several more reels—all sorts of different moving pictures.”
    The Master was deeply moved that Herr Edison had shared hismagnificent invention, but declined. “Very generous. But this is too precious to accept.”
    Herr Edison tried to change his mind, but the Master