Whereas the degree in sociology and political economy that Pnin had obtained with some pomp at the University of Prague around 1925 had become by mid century a doctorate in desuetude, he was not altogether miscast as a teacher of Russian. He was beloved not for any essential ability but for those unforgettable digressions of his, when he would remove his glasses to beam at the past while massaging the lenses of the present. Nostalgic excursions in broken English. Autobiographical titbits. How Pnin came to the Soedinyon nпe Shtatп (the United States). 'Examination on ship before landing. Very well! "Nothing to declare?"

"Nothing." Very well! Then political questions. He asks: "Are you anarchist?" I answer'--time out on the part of the narrator for a spell of cosy mute mirth--'"First what do we understand under 'Anarchism'? Anarchism practical, metaphysical, theoretical, mystical, abstractical, individual, social? When I was young," I say, "all this had for me signification." So we had a very interesting discussion, in consequence of which I passed two whole weeks on Ellis Island'--abdomen beginning to heave; heaving; narrator convulsed.

But there were still better sessions in the way of humour. With an air of coy secrecy, benevolent Pnin, preparing the children for the marvellous treat he had once had himself, and already revealing, in an uncontrollable smile, an incomplete but formidable set of tawny teeth, would open a dilapidated Russian book at the elegant leatherette marker he had carefully placed there; he would open the book, whereupon as often as not a look of the utmost dismay would alter his plastic features; agape, feverishly, he would flip right and left through the volume, and minutes might pass before he found the right page--or satisfied himself that he had marked it correctly after all.