Good call, GD! Let's take a trip in the Wayback Machine to January 24, 1940...
January 24, 1940
Laurence Steinhardt sat down calmly and lit his pipe. He knew he would be waiting for some time, and that did not bother him. He dug a dog-eared copy of War and Peace out of his briefcase and sighed contentedly.
Eighty minutes later, Vyacheslav Molotov entered, flanked by an impressive number of translators and subordinates. Steinhardt rose and offered his hand. Molotov grasped it, gave it two crushing pumps, and gestured for Steinhardt to take his seat.
The two men regarded each other for a short while.
Finally, Molotov leaned forward and spoke through his translator. "Ambassador Steinhardt, thank you for coming. I must tell you frankly that the People of the Soviet Union have misgivings over your government's latest actions."
Steinhardt tilted his head slightly and puffed on his pipe. "We've made our intentions very clear."
Molotov nodded curtly. "To come to the rescue of Poland, that is what your President has said. But now you establish an empire on our border."
"Considering where your borders are, Mr. Molotov, and where they were this time last year, I'd be careful bandying about the word 'empire'."
The silence fell again. Molotov leaned forward.
"I speak frankly now. Your occupation of Poland is intolerable, as is your undiplomatic rebuttal."
Steinhardt smiled politely. "With all due respect, Mr. Molotov, I think you'll learn to tolerate it. You're having a hard enough time with a dozen Finnish divisions. Want to see how you'll do against a hundred and fifty?"
Molotov turned red and slammed his fist on his desk. "That is an insult to the government of the Soviet Union and a threat of war-"
Steinhardt returned the favor, pointing at Molotov with his pipe. "That is the flat damn truth! You'll know when the United States is threatening war, and you'd better hope to whatever you Bolsheviks have replaced God with that you never see the day!"
Molotov slumped back in his chair, paralyzed with fury.
Steinhardt composed himself, blew an idle smoke ring at the ceiling, and rose. "Thank you for this chat, Mr. Molotov. I look forward to speaking with you again. I think that when you give the Premier your report, you'll be given instructions to be extremely civil in your dealings with me in the future. Perhaps we can play a match or two of chess? I've been practicing, you know." Steinhardt picked up his fedora and grinned.
Molotov's eyes crawled icily over Steinhardt's face. "Your superiority is temporary. This arrogance won't be forgotten." He gestured at the book Steinhardt was packing into his briefcase. "To threaten the Soviet Union and then relax while reading Tolstoy... insulting and barbarian."
Steinhardt held up his book, letting Molotov take in the cover art of French cavalry charging into Russia. "Think of it as homework. Good day, Mr. Molotov."
January 24, 1940
Laurence Steinhardt sat down calmly and lit his pipe. He knew he would be waiting for some time, and that did not bother him. He dug a dog-eared copy of War and Peace out of his briefcase and sighed contentedly.
Eighty minutes later, Vyacheslav Molotov entered, flanked by an impressive number of translators and subordinates. Steinhardt rose and offered his hand. Molotov grasped it, gave it two crushing pumps, and gestured for Steinhardt to take his seat.
The two men regarded each other for a short while.
Finally, Molotov leaned forward and spoke through his translator. "Ambassador Steinhardt, thank you for coming. I must tell you frankly that the People of the Soviet Union have misgivings over your government's latest actions."
Steinhardt tilted his head slightly and puffed on his pipe. "We've made our intentions very clear."
Molotov nodded curtly. "To come to the rescue of Poland, that is what your President has said. But now you establish an empire on our border."
"Considering where your borders are, Mr. Molotov, and where they were this time last year, I'd be careful bandying about the word 'empire'."
The silence fell again. Molotov leaned forward.
"I speak frankly now. Your occupation of Poland is intolerable, as is your undiplomatic rebuttal."
Steinhardt smiled politely. "With all due respect, Mr. Molotov, I think you'll learn to tolerate it. You're having a hard enough time with a dozen Finnish divisions. Want to see how you'll do against a hundred and fifty?"
Molotov turned red and slammed his fist on his desk. "That is an insult to the government of the Soviet Union and a threat of war-"
Steinhardt returned the favor, pointing at Molotov with his pipe. "That is the flat damn truth! You'll know when the United States is threatening war, and you'd better hope to whatever you Bolsheviks have replaced God with that you never see the day!"
Molotov slumped back in his chair, paralyzed with fury.
Steinhardt composed himself, blew an idle smoke ring at the ceiling, and rose. "Thank you for this chat, Mr. Molotov. I look forward to speaking with you again. I think that when you give the Premier your report, you'll be given instructions to be extremely civil in your dealings with me in the future. Perhaps we can play a match or two of chess? I've been practicing, you know." Steinhardt picked up his fedora and grinned.
Molotov's eyes crawled icily over Steinhardt's face. "Your superiority is temporary. This arrogance won't be forgotten." He gestured at the book Steinhardt was packing into his briefcase. "To threaten the Soviet Union and then relax while reading Tolstoy... insulting and barbarian."
Steinhardt held up his book, letting Molotov take in the cover art of French cavalry charging into Russia. "Think of it as homework. Good day, Mr. Molotov."