I’ve traced that film through every surviving catalog, but no copies surface—just a handful of stills and a single review in the Berliner Filmzeitung. The “black veil” was less a prop than a narrative fulcrum, a symbol that the protagonist’s anonymity forces her to confront the collective guilt of a war‑torn society. If someone were to reconstruct the script from the production notes we’ve found, the language would be archaic, yes, but the emotional texture—loneliness, shame, the desperate longing for identity—would still feel strikingly fresh, because those feelings are human, not time‑bound. The silence of the lost film does not erase the doubts; it simply amplifies them, leaving us to wonder whether the mask was a shield or a prison.