Dr. Johnson’s definition of a second marriage as “the triumph of hope over experience” applies each year to my perusal of brochures before the start of concert season.

This summer, I read with excitement that Robert Craft would be conducting the Berg Chamber Concerto at Miller Theatre on November 18; my generation’s most ardent advocate for the music of the Second Viennese School appears only rarely in New York, and I have not heard him here since 1998. But Mr. Craft canceled before post time and was replaced by Gunther Schuller. Not a problem, as Mr. Schuller is a very interesting composer, a splendid raconteur, and a former student of Schonberg in Los Angeles. But Mr. Schuller also pulled out of the event. The pickup group, christened for the occasion the 20th Century Classics Ensemble, was ultimately led by Dutch master Reinbert de Leeuw.

A word about this conductor. Although he came to Columbia exclusively to lead the Berg, he sat in the audience for the first half of the program in order to listen to his musicians play the other works on the program, Messiaen’s “Theme and Variations” and Mozart’s Serenade No.12 in C minor, K. 388.Many would have opted for relaxation in the green room, but Mr. de Leeuw instead demonstrated his love and genuine interest for his chosen profession.

Messiaen’s “Theme and Variations” is heard very rarely, yet this week it was performed twice in New York, first by Leila Josefowicz at Zankel Hall and on Friday night by violinist Mark Steinberg and pianist Jeremy Denk. Although Messiaen is known as the teacher of many of the shining lights of contemporary music, including Boulez, Stockhausen, and Pierre-Laurent Aimard, he also was the student of Paul Dukas; had he continued in the style of these variations, he would have been but a Debussy epigone. Messrs. Steinberg and Denk gave this lightweight essay a diaphanous reading.

Next, an octet (which I surmised was the 18th Century Classics Ensemble) performed Mozart’s Serenade No. 12 for eight winds, standing in a semicircle. Such veteran Gotham chamber music luminaries as Charles Neidich (clarinet) and William Purvis (horn) were intermixed with less familiar tooters. This dark work is uniquely Mozartian, filled with angst but concluding with a jaunty allegro reminiscent of the final scene, now often excised, of “Don Giovanni.” This was a splendid realization.

The finale was a finely executed performance of Berg’s dodecaphonic essay in strict patterning. While composing the Chamber Concerto, Berg wrote to Schonberg exaggeratedly praising his own newfound proficiency in relating fractal mathematics to this music. I have always thought of the work as rather cold and angular, a wayward piece of Stravinskian Neoclassicism by a passionate Romantic. Yet this performance made a strong argument for the piece.

The Chamber Concerto ends with the same four solo violin notes that begin the much more beloved Berg Violin Concerto. Mr. Steinberg drew an even stronger connection between the two works by performing this thornier, more muscular music as if it were a heartfelt expression of the eternal feminine. This was nothing short of a terrific effort, and a revelatory one. His soaring, passionate fiddle grew organically out of the enriched soil of the wind background, ably disciplined by Mr. de Leeuw.

Mr. Denk, meanwhile, adopted a deliquescent keyboard style that added yet another loving undertone. Oddly, he performed the first movement, which includes the big, cadenza-like piano solo, without a score, although a page-turner sat next to him. For the second and third movements, he employed both printed music and assistant. All in all, this was a very strong and unified performance. Mr. de Leeuw, going for momentum, did not even pause between movements.

The last time that I caught this piece in New York, I overheard a young couple talking at intermission. He said he hoped the Berg would be interesting. She (from Germany) said that there was a great quartet in Berlin named the Alban Berg. He replied, “I don’t think it’s the same guy, I think he’s dead.” With evenings like this one, his music lives on.

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For me, the two most important violinists of the last century were George Enesco and Eugene Ysaye, and the two most enjoyable were Mischa Elman and Nathan Milstein. Thus I was in hog heaven on Thursday evening, when Hilary Hahn presented a recital at Carnegie Hall that featured compositions by three of these fiddler gods.

Ms. Hahn is a remarkable violinist and a splendid advocate for composers. She imposes little of her own personality onto a performance, striving instead for a faithful communication of the original author’s intentions. Self-effacing almost to a fault, she knows that ultimately it is not she but rather the great voices of the past who are the show.

Each of the six Ysaye solo sonatas is dedicated to a contemporary, and Ms. Hahn began the program with the G minor, which was written with the intellectual violinist Joseph Szigeti in mind. Entranced by this Hungarian’s performance of the Bach solo sonatas and partitas, Ysaye fashioned a work combining 17th- and 20th-century styles that reminds me a little of walking the streets of modern Rome: It is hard to establish what era you are in.

Ms. Hahn is more than just a violinist; despite her young years, she is also a serious student of the performing styles of the past. She brought to the surface not only the High Baroque vocabulary of Ysaye’s piece but also some of its ingenious devices, such as harmonics immediately following individual notes, which suggest at least the illusion of a fugue.

It is tempting to perform the Gypsy inspired dance music of Enesco in a loud and boisterous manner, but Ms. Hahn has another take. Her rendition of the A minor Sonata for Violin and Piano was notably arresting for its atmosphere of quietude, matched lovingly by pianist Natalie Zhu. There was a sense that Ms. Zhu was no mere accompanist, but rather a full partner; she even appeared with Ms. Hahn in the Carnegie lobby at the conclusion of the evening for the sale and signing of CDs.

After intermission, Ms. Hahn breathed new nostalgic life into Milstein’s “Paganiniana,” yet another composition inspired by the famous 24th caprice. Here we were treated to intense virtuosity expressed sotto voce. Delicacy and dexterity made for an impressive combination. Closing my eyes and listening was a true pleasure; for these 10 minutes, I was back in a golden age.

The duo presented a very lively Classical set afterward. Refreshingly, Ms. Hahn, who has studied the matter, eschews the desiccated, vibratoless world of contemporary Mozart performance, instead imbuing her play with a healthy sense of expressive feeling. Matching lively phrases note for note with Ms. Zhu in Mozart’s Sonata in G major, K. 301, she projected a great deal of Deist joy. This should go without saying, but her technique is flawless. I did not detect a single wrong note this entire night.

Finally, Beethoven. The Sonata in E flat major, Op. 12, No. 3 is a narrative work filled with enthusiastic excitement and blessed with superhuman melodic flow. Most performances rely on volume to enhance the brio. But for Hilary Hahn, this was another opportunity to not play above a mezzoforte, leaving us all with the profound impression in our inner ears of her sophisticated, understated elegance.