Vyacheslav Molotov was a man of outstanding ability and cold-blooded ruthlessness. He had survived the fearful hazards and ordeals to which all the Bolshevik leaders had been subjected...He had lived and thrived in a society where every-varying intrigue was accompanied by the constant menace of personal liquidation. His...comprehending eyes,...his verbal adroitness and imperturbable demeanour were appropriate manifestations of his qualities and skill. He was above all men fitted to be the agent and instrument of the policy of an incalculable machine. I have only met him on equal terms, in parleys where sometimes a strain of humour appeared, or at banquets where he genially proposed...conventional and meaningless toasts. I have never seen a human being who more perfectly represented the modern conception of a robot. And yet with all this there was an apparently reasonable and keenly-polished diplomatist...[With the Japanese Ambassador] One delicate, searching, awkward interview after another was conducted with perfect poise, impenetrable purpose, and bland, official correctitude. Never a chink opened. Never a needless jar was made. His smile of Siberian winter, his carefully-measured and often wise words, his affable demeanour, combined to make him the perfect agent of Soviet policy in a deadly world.
There was another long, delicate, searching, comprehending interview. One between Molotov and former champagne salesman Ribbentrop. The latter was trying to sell the former on the bubbly prospect of dividing the spoils upon the imminent liquidation of the British Empire and said, through translator, "And you will have a natural outlet to the open sea," meaning the Arabian Sea. Without waiting for the translation, Molotov interrupted, "Which sea?"
