One is always a little sorry to see one's old
friends sent to gaol. M. Valdemaras, the bullet-headed little Dictator of Lithuania, was never exactly a friend of mine, but he was at least an entertaining acquaintance. (Not so entertaining in public ; it was when he was making one of his interminable speeches to the League Council that M. Briand happened to wake up, found M. Scialoja listening to the speaker, and asked him in concern whether he was suffering from insomnia.) I last saw him in Kovno, where he was still living in official quarters over the Bank of Lithuania, though no longer in office. He was then peacefully writing memoirs, mainly, of course, about the eternal Vilna question. Now he has got twelve years for trying to get back to power through a revolution. He would never have been heard of—or hardly—but for the platform the League of Nations gave him. Whether that goes to the League's debit or credit is perhaps arguable.
Previous page
