Just two short sounds—squeak, thump!—issue from Pan Skrzypczak’s violin: the squeak he makes by running the bow upon the strings behind the bridge, and the thump he makes by tapping the top of the violin. It’s such a quick “concerto”—poor mouse!—Zosia bursts out laughing. After that, he shows her how to make all sorts of animal sounds with her violin: a cow’s moo, a lamb’s bleat, a chicken’s cluck, a donkey’s bray.

Another afternoon, he tells her the story of a recital he’d prepared for as a young student.

“I was very nervous because I was to play my teacher’s own composition, which was terribly complicated. The recital was held in a mansion house, with a banquet beforehand for which I had no appetite. All I wanted was to warm up my violin and practice! As soon as I could reasonably leave the table, I made my way to a practice room. I had to walk through a winding maze of corridors, not unlike the walkways of this convent. When I finally got settled and began to practice, I found that I didn’t remember how the piece was to start. I knew every note after the first measure, but as for the beginning—my mind was an utter blank! So I weaved my way back through the maze to the banquet room. My teacher was still lounging at the table, talking to friends and colleagues, and drinking. I whispered my problem to him.

“‘Go back and practice some more. It will come to you,’ he said, and waved me away.

“So I weaved my way back to the practice room and picked up my violin to start. But again, I had no memory of the first notes. I went a second time to my teacher.

“‘Please—my recital is in less than an hour!’

“‘All right, all right,’ he grumbled, and he left the table and walked with me through the twists and turns of the halls, to the practice room.

“When he picked up his violin, he played something entirely unfamiliar, a wild improvisation as far as I could tell. It was then that I realized: He—my great teacher and renowned composer—didn’t remember the start of his piece, either!”

Zosia looks shocked. “What did you do? What did you play at the recital?”

“I improvised my own first measure! I joined it to the rest of the piece as best I could, and kept going.”

Today, Pan Skrzypczak is far quieter after the lesson as he pulls a sheet of paper from his briefcase.

“I wrote out a folk song you might know.”