Three years ago, Leon Fleisher played a recital in Carnegie Hall, and he used two hands. He hadn’t done that — not in a Carnegie recital — in 56 years. As you may well know, this great American pianist was stricken with a neurological disorder when he was in his prime. For about 30 years, he was confined to the left hand alone. And then, in the mid-’90s, he was able to bring back the right. And the world rejoiced.

He played another recital in Carnegie Hall on Thursday night. Whereas the 2003 recital had both lefthand music and two-handed music, this program was all two-handed. In the main, the technical demands were gentle. And the entire evening was suffused with autumn.

Let me ask a question: How do you review Leon Fleisher, at this stage of the game? Do you simply give thanks that you can hear him at all (especially two-handed)? Or do you review him straight, as you would have in, say, 1963? In my opinion, Mr. Fleisher has way too much integrity to be condescended to. I will review him straight, while giving thanks all the same.

He began the same way he did in 2003: with Egon Petri’s transcription of “Sheep May Safely Graze,” by Bach. Petri (1881–1962) was a great pianist, and also a great teacher. One of the few to rival him as a teacher was Artur Schnabel — who, in fact, taught the young Fleisher.

Mr. Fleisher looked like some kind of musical monk, hunched over the keyboard, with those prominent glasses, reading his music. And he played “Sheep May Safely Graze” with purity and beauty. But he also seemed to lack complete control over his line. That is, he could not seem to apply the proper weight to various notes. The line was a little unsmooth.

He moved on to more Bach, the Capriccio in B flat, “On the Departure of a Beloved Brother.” Mr. Fleisher includes this wonderful, six-part work on his new album (reviewed in these pages last week). At Carnegie, he played it adequately, although he was a bit subdued in it, even slightly sleepy.

He was much the same in Stravinsky’s Serenade in A, from 1925. This, too, is on Mr. Fleisher’s album, and he has done us a service by resurrecting this work. We are not overflowing in Stravinsky piano pieces, and other pianists would do well to take it up, although they can’t flash in it.

Mr. Fleisher returned to Bach with Myra Hess’s transcription of “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring.” This may be the most famous piano transcription in the world, and Dame Myra used to call the piece, simply, “Jesu, Joy.” Mr. Fleisher played it slowly — possibly too slowly — but profoundly.

The audience tried to applaud, but Mr. Fleisher moved straight on to Bach’s Chromatic Fantasy and Fugue in D minor. Pianists are always doing this, and it drives me crazy. Those two Bach works have nothing to do with each other — nothing — and Mr. Fleisher could have allowed a little applause. Even when pianists play pieces by different composers, they treat them as songs in “Winterreise” or something — maddening, and stupid.

In any case, Mr. Fleisher played the Chromatic Fantasy and Fugue with admirable command — Fleisher-esque command. And the beginning of the Fugue had a sneaking quality that was exactly right. There was no problem with the line there, none whatsoever.

After intermission, Mr. Fleisher played a Debussy set, and it was the highlight of the evening, for my money. “Le Vent dans la plaine” sounded exactly like that, in fact — like wind on the plain. It was beautifully colored, and stirring. Mr. Fleisher has never been thought of as an Impressionist, but maybe he should be. A subsequent piece, “La Cathédrale engloutie,” had both mystery and power — remarkable. Like everyone else, I have heard this piece played by all the French specialists. I have never heard it better.

The Debussy over, Mr. Fleisher stepped into Alicia de Larrocha territory, playing two sections of “Iberia,” by Albéniz. “Evocación” was unusually subdued — autumnal, gentle, retiring — but beautiful. It, too, was Impressionistic. As for “El puerto,” it has never been so Germanic! It should have swung more — but it was very, very dignified. It occurred to me that Schnabel might have played the piece just this way.

To end the program was a Chopin set, starting with the Mazurka in C-sharp minor, Op. 50, No. 3, which was gracefully shaped. And Mr. Fleisher displayed a first-class singing tone in the Nocturne in D flat, Op. 27, No. 2. He also emphasized Chopin’s extraordinary modulations.

And the final item? This was a Scherzo, the one in C-sharp minor, and I wondered whether Mr. Fleisher could get through it. I wondered whether he still had the chops for it. That was dumb of me: Mr. Fleisher wouldn’t have programmed it if he couldn’t play it. And play it he did. He was downright virtuosic in it, as Leon Fleisher is supposed to be.

The audience roared its appreciation, and Mr. Fleisher gave them one encore. Above, I said that this was entirely a two-handed evening. That was not quite right. Mr. Fleisher played a left-hand version of “The Man I Love” (Gershwin). His right hand gripped the edge of the piano, just as it had done all those years, when Mr. Fleisher could do nothing but this.

And then, this great pianist — and man — was gone. I look forward to hearing him again. And that will be at the end of next month, when he plays a Mozart concerto with the New York Philharmonic.

One footnote, if you will: During “La Cathédrale engloutie,” of all pieces, a hearing aid in the hall went crazy. Mr. Fleisher never flinched. Haywire hearing aids are a bane of concert life, although their wearers, of course, can’t help it.I listened to a hearing aid — was almost deafened by it — for a whole two acts of “Parsifal” one night. Desperate patrons finally prevailed on an usher to do something about it. On another occasion — in Carnegie Hall — Dawn Upshaw, the soprano, stopped in the middle of a song, when a hearing aid went off.

But Mr. Fleisher was too busy plumbing that cathedral.

***

On Friday night, the Metropolitan Opera revived the world’s favorite double bill: Mascagni’s “Cavalleria rusticana” and Leoncavallo’s “Pagliacci.” The company’s productions are by Franco Zeffirelli, bête noire of critics. The public loves him, though, and the public is right.

“Cav” starred Maria Guleghina as Santuzza and Franco Farina as Turiddu. Ms. Guleghina has a famously big and rugged voice, but it is not without subtlety. And she tends to wear her heart on her sleeve, which is no problem, in verismo. Mr. Farina was generally virile and gleaming, but he had some rough moments, especially toward the end. Ambrogio Maestri made a fine — almost likable! — Alfio; Jane Bunnell was totally solid as Mamma Lucia; and Tamara Mumford did a nice turn as the hussy Lola.

“Pag” starred Salvatore Licitra as Canio and Patricia Racette as Nedda. Mr. Licitra was in good voice — never heard him better — and acted marvelously. Who knew that he was such a gifted actor? Not I. And Ms. Racette is a wonder: Her voice is lyric, but filled with vibrancy and power. Technically, she is sound, and musically, she is natural. Lado Ataneli was satisfactory as Tonio, and Tony Stevenson sang Harlequin’s aria decently. A Ukrainian baritone, Pavel Baransky, was to make his Met debut as Silvio.But he was ill, and replaced by Dwayne Croft. What a high-class sub!

In the pit for these operas was Marco Armiliato, who allowed some flabbiness in “Cav” but was intense and convincing in “Pag.” The Met chorus did very well, particularly in “Cav,” and the orchestra was excellent. How many times have I and other critics praised the “ravishing” cello of Rafael Figueroa? Well, it was true again.

“Cavalleria Rusticana” and “Pagliacci” until February 10 (Lincoln Center, 212-721-6500).