Freeland tribune. (Freeland, Pa.) 1888-1921, 1890-08-28
Won MOLTKE.
THE GREAT GERMAN SOLDIER
AT HIS HOME.
An American Representative OF In
ventor Edison visits the Field
Marshal with Phonograph-Von
Moltke at His Wifes Tomb

ventor Edison visits the Field
Marshal with Phonograph-Von
Moltke at His Wife's Tomb
A gentleman named Wangeman has
been travelling through Europe as Mr.. Ed
ison's representative, exhibiting the great
inventors phonograph to the crowned
heads and other important personages.
Among others Mr.. Wangeman, says the
New York Sun, visited Won Moltke, the
venerable soldier whom Germany idol
ICES, and who. since he entertained Mr.
Edison's representative, has laid down
his sword and surrendered the title of
Field Marshal of the German armies.
The weight of 90 years now burdens
him, but his mind is still clear and Wig
orous and his heart warm and sympa-
thetic. Mr.. Wangeman was unable to
accept his first invitation to visit him at
his old chateau at Creisan, and in answer
to his written apology the old soldier
telegraphed him:
always welcome; come when you
can."
So late in October Mr.. and Mrs.
Wangeman were the guests of the Count
on his beautiful estate. The place is a
farm or park of about 1900 acres which
Won Moltke bought in 1865, and ever
since he has devoted much attention to
its development and improvement The
richly, but in the severe old style, and all
the surroundings seem peculiarly adapted
to the lonely old man for whom they
exist. 1t is a strange spot. The visitor
to the chateau encounters one of the
oldest but most beautiful bits of land
scape imaginable. The mansion is upon
a thickly-wooded hill, high and impos-
ing. All of the trees are of artificial
planting. Many of them were set out by
Count Won Moltke's own hands. BY ar
ranging the trees according to the color
of their foliage he has produced strik.
ing effect. At the base the leaves of all
the trees are of the lightest green. AS
the ascent rises the shade darkens grad
ually and the foliage becomes more
dense, until at the top, surrounding the
site of the chateau and other buildings,
the leaves are of the most sombre hue.
The drive through the shaded avenue to
the house, with the shadows becoming
blacker and more dense until the sudden
burst of sunlight at the end produces al
| iuoSt an unChuuy llupTeSSlOn.
| Won Moltke came into the hall to give
his guests courtly personal welcome.
Although of greater years than Bismarck,
he seems to possess greater strength and
vitality. He is sad old man. He has
never ceased to mourn the loss of his
wife, who died twenty years ago, and
the fact that he is childless adds to his
loneliness. But he is not the taciturn,
silent man he has sometimes been repre-
sented. He is an easy entertainer and a
fluent linguist. Much of the time he
chatted with his visitors in English.
There were at the chateau at the time
three of the Counts nephew's, one of
whom is to be his heir, and their wives,
and four or five of the high officers of the
army.
After luncheon there was a pleasant
social hour, during which Won Moltke
displayed some of his most priced
momentos. Prominent among these was
the sword presented to him by the ladies
of Baltimore, which hangs in conspicu-
GUS place in his library. Presently,
stepping to one of the long open windows
in the drawing-room, Won Moltke rang
large bell. At the signal, there quickly
flew from all directions great flock of
pheasants, tame as chickens, and waiting
to be fed. The Count threw them some
grain and spoke fondly of his pets as he
watched them gather it up. When the
phonograph was set up there was the
same unbounded interest in its wonders
that all others had shown. The old
soldiers tribute to it was thus expressed
on one of its waxen cylinders to be sent
to Mr.. Edison:
'This invention of yours is indeed
marvellous. 1t enables a man who is
buried to appear once more out of his
grave and greet with his voice the
present"
| To this he added few lines from Faust
of his own. The entertainment lasted
some hours, and was abandoned with
much regret. Finally, all the members of
the company repeated together into the
phonograph the first lines of the national
hymn, to note the faithful reproduction
of the difference in the voices. As five
o'clock approached, Won Moltke asked
his guests if they would walk in the park
on the crest of the hill. The others knew
what the invitation meant, but Mr. and
Mrs. Wangeman supposed it signifed
nothing more than the words implied.
The party strolled out and for few
moments admired the magnificent view
of the rich country roundabout. Their
steps took them finally toward little
stone chapel set in the midst of close
bank of trees of darkest foliage, which
surround it on all but one side. The
mfr fana1 ha ,,pahoo,,raI
sun. The little chapel is the tomb of
Won Moltke's wife, and there he expects
soon to be laid by her side. To this
sepulchre the old man goes faithfully
every afternoon, and stands for few
minutes at the entrance in silent medlta-
ton.
As the party approached the spot they
stopped reverently some little distance
away, and Won Moltke went on lone.
He was wrapped in long military cloak
and his slouch hat was pulled down so
that it half concealed his face. He strobe
slowly to the entrance of the mortuary
chapel, and stood there with bowed
head and folded arms. The silent, soli-
tary figure of the grim old soldier seemed
to await with resignation the coming of
the only enemy he must fail to vanouish.
There was pathetic grandeur in the at
titude of the great commander, standing
there in silent communion with death,
which his martial figure as victor upon
the worlds greatest battefields had never
possessed. The campaigns of earth were
behind him and forgotten, and as he
stood striving to pierce the veil soon to
be torn aside which separated him from
her whose companionship had been to