First, a word about who wasn’t there. I’m talking about the Metropolitan Opera’s “Samson et Dalila,” which revived on Friday night. (This is the opera by Camille Saint-Saens, and the Met has a spiffy, weird, compelling production by Elijah Moshinsky, which debuted in 1998.)

Placido Domingo wasn’t there. He is the leading Samson of our time, and he was scheduled to sing the role. But he is suffering from tracheitis – inflammation of the trachea – and has canceled his singing engagements for a while. These include both Samson performances and performances of Cyrano, in the Alfano opera “Cyrano de Bergerac.” He has kept his conducting engagements, however: He is wielding the baton in the Met’s “Rigoletto.”

Neither Olga Borodina nor Denyce Graves was there. They are probably the leading Delilahs of our time, and they have been coowners of the role at the Met for many seasons. Neither was scheduled to sing this time – I simply thought I would mention it.

And James Levine wasn’t there. He can conduct this opera – what opera can’t he conduct? – as he proved when the Met did Act III in the opening-night gala last fall.

So, these absences weighed heavily as one went to the opera house on Friday night. But the show went on, and it went on pretty well.

Just about the best thing about it was Clifton Forbis, the tenor from Nashville, who took the role of Samson. He is a rugged singer, and often an elegant one. His sound was a little covered at the beginning of the evening, but he opened up, to produce some ringing notes. His singing at the beginning of Act III was both touching and beautiful. He happened to have a rough last note – the last note of the opera. But he still managed to bring the temple down.

In the role of Delilah was Marina Domashenko, the Russian mezzo-soprano. She prowls about the stage like Catwoman, or something. And what is it about Russia, that it should produce so many formidable sounding singers, especially female?

Ms. Domashenko is what we’d call, in formal critic’s language, a wower. She makes an immediate and lasting sensual impact. Several seasons ago, she was Maddalena in a Met “Rigoletto.” Now, Maddalena – the sister of the assassin Sparafucile – is a very minor role, needed for some last-minute seduction. But she made it a sensation. The headline over the review in this newspaper was, “Enter the Assassin’s Sister.”

As Delilah, Ms. Domashenko sounded very, very, very Russian – but then, Ms. Borodina is Russian-sounding too (though less so). Delilah has three arias, and, in the first of them – “Printemps qui commence” – Ms. Domashenko had a case of the flats. Besides which, the orchestra was too loud for her. In the second aria – “Amour! viens aider ma faiblesse” – she was better, though the orchestra was still too loud. And in the third – “Mon coeur s’ouvre a ta voix,” one of the hit arias of all French opera – she was really quite good.

I didn’t understand a word, incidentally – but one should know these words anyway. And I should mention that her best notes of the evening were her high notes: a B flat, an A. That is in her favor. Finally, Ms. Domashenko took part in some of the dancing around her, and she did so pretty convincingly.

Singing the role of the High Priest was the veteran French baritone Jean-Philippe Lafont. He was tremulous and bluff, but he was committed. As the Old Hebrew, the Korean bass Kwangchul Youn was moving and lustrous. You need holy dignity in this part, and Mr. Youn can do that. The bass-baritone James Courtney contributed a sturdy Abimelech.

Doing the honors in the pit was the Frenchman Emmanuel Villaume. France has produced about as many conductors as Yeshiva University has produced NBA stars. But that is a topic for another day, and, in any case, Mr. Villaume is a worthy maestro.

The opera began with the right yearning and intensity, and the low strings were excellent in their grittiness. But unison playing went awry, and much more would go awry as well. The orchestra was frequently not together on this occasion. They were loose in the Bacchanale, and they were also short on primal lust. (Is there any other kind?)

But Mr. Villaume did a generally competent job.

“Samson et Dalila” is a heavily choral opera, and the Met chorus acquitted itself well, whether as smirking, gloating Philistines or suffering, importunate Hebrews. They missed some of their high notes – on the flat side, of course – but they can work on that.

And “Samson et Dalila” can seem half a ballet. The Met dancers strutted their usual, admirable stuff, saving particular energy for the Bacchanale: In this, they always spring and writhe savagely, and impressively. “Samson et Dalila” is a gaudy biblical pageant, as well as a remarkable work of art. The Moshinsky production does it proud.

***

Continuing its role in Mozart 250 – the 250th anniversary of the composer’s birth – the New York Philharmonic is playing a subscription concert of symphonies. On the podium is the orchestra’s music director, Lorin Maazel. The symphonies are Mozart’s last three: No. 39 in E flat, No. 40 in G minor, and No. 41 in C, nicknamed “the Jupiter.”

On Saturday night, a coincidence occurred: As the Philharmonic played two of the symphonies – No. 39 and No. 41 – in Avery Fisher Hall, the Staatskapelle Berlin, under Daniel Barenboim, played them in Carnegie Hall. It’s that kind of year.

Of course, that might happen in any year, Mozart being Mozart.

The composer wrote his final three symphonies in the space of nine weeks, one of the greatest bursts of creativity in history. This was during the summer of 1788. (What did you accomplish that summer?) It is important to remember that Mozart had no idea these would be his last symphonies. But, for a final statement – or three – he could hardly have done better.

Under Mr. Maazel on Saturday night, the beginning of the E-flat sym phony was so full and grand, so noble and elevating, that was almost enough: You could almost have gone home, after those opening pages. But it was very much worth staying. This symphony was beautifully paced, not rushed but not dragging. It was not overly plush, but never spare. I, for one, found it a relief to hear this symphony – and the other ones – played by an unapologetic modern orchestra, rather than a period band. Periodicity can wear, and grate.

Throughout this symphony, the maestro committed no Maazelisms. He simply embodied Mozartean taste. And – as I have claimed many times – he is underrated as a Mozartean. Saturday night confirmed that redundantly. (I might add that many people consider Mozart playing the true test of musicianship, and they’re not wrong.)

As the opening pages were almost enough, the first movement was almost enough: You were reluctant to stay in the hall, lest the evening be spoiled. But the balance of No. 39 was alternately virile and lovely. Sometimes it was both. In the closing Allegro, conductor and orchestra positively reveled in Mozart’s inventiveness, and (it would appear) happiness.

Then to the Symphony No. 40 in G minor. Its beginning was fleet and ghostly, sort of as though it moved on vapors. Above all, the performance of this symphony was involving. No one had told Mr. Maazel that this is a hackneyed work, hardly worth bothering with. He conducted it as though discovering this music for the first time. You could have disagreed with various choices: For example, I found parts of the Andante plodding. But you couldn’t argue with the musical commitment.

The third movement – the Menuetto – was amazingly purposeful, marcato. And in the last – Allegro assai – Mr. Maazel was wired. Not even some sluggish horn playing could diminish the electricity.

A 20-minute break, and then the Jupiter – solid, substantial, inexorable. Mr. Maazel paid particular attention to Mozart’s rests, making the most of them. A listener didn’t have to worry about a thing; you were in Mother’s arms; you simply had the Jupiter as it should be.

The final movement is marked Molto allegro – Very fast – and Mr. Maazel took that “Molto” very seriously. This was an incredibly fast finale, but comfortably executed. Mr. Maazel effected an unusual ritard at the end, but it said, “This symphony is a big deal,” rather than, “I’m Lorin Maazel, and this is what I do” – thrilling.

The audience called him back many times, but he provided no encore. He seems to have stopped doing that, after encoring for several seasons. I was thinking an opera overture – probably “The Marriage of Figaro” – but Mr. Maazel demurred.

You would think that, after three symphonies, one would have had enough Mozart – but with playing at this level, you can always have more. I will now say the sniffy critic’s thing and wonder whether the New York public truly appreciates what we have in Lorin Maazel (when he is on, which is frequent). Hell, forget about the public – do the critics?

“Samson et Dalila” will be performed again on February 14, 17, 22 & 25, and March 2 at the Metropolitan Opera House (Lincoln Center, 212-362-6000).