On Friday night, the Metropolitan Museum hosted a master: Ivan Moravec, the Czech pianist born in 1930. I have often described Mr. Moravec as a “pianist’s pianist,” and I’m afraid I will stick to the cliché. He is the kind of pianist — quite rare — whom others admire, learn from, and bow to. He is a guardian of standards, or a reminder of standards. He is tasteful, aristocratic, noble. He goes right to the heart of a piece, and there is barely a trace of ego in his playing. He is a servant of composers and the music they write.

His program on Friday night began with Mozart: the Fantasy in C minor, K. 475. In talking about Mr. Moravec, I lean on the word “judgment,” which encapsulates a great deal. He simply exhibits judgment. He obeys structure and line. And there is great evenness in his playing — no note out of place, no note given the wrong weight. Everything matches.

He also produces an excellent sound, playing into the keys, with nothing on the surface. When he wants to sing, he sings. And when he plays a forte, it is an honest forte: with no percussiveness, no banging. His loud playing is rounded, with a glowing quality, when that is desired. And he doesn’t play fortissimo when forte is called for. This is an honest pianist in every respect.

Mr. Moravec was straightforward in Mozart’s Fantasy, and maybe a bit slow, slightly plodding — the piece did not sound like much of a fantasy. But, whatever his tempo, Mr. Moravec keeps the pulse — he has a supreme sense of pulse. You might think he had some sort of governor within him, a perfect little motor.

He next turned to the Prelude, Chorale, and Fugue by César Franck. This is a wonderful piece, and a bit old-fashioned. It used to be a staple of piano recitals, but only senior pianists play it now, and younger pianists with a healthy respect for the past — e.g., Evgeny Kissin. Mr. Moravec played it magisterially, commandingly, with his customary judgment. He was disciplined yet expansive (expansive enough). You might have liked a touch more wildness, but at least Mr. Moravec forbade bombast.

And his playing had tension, of the right kind: an expectancy, an aliveness. There was nothing dead or blasé in these notes.

After intermission, Mr. Moravec turned to Debussy, one of his specialties (if a pianist like this can be said to have specialties). He played “Images,” Book I, whose first piece is the beloved “Reflets dans l’eau.” Mr. Moravec played this beautifully, evenly, with subtle colors. He was, of course, modest and unshowy, but his technique is ample. One reason Mr. Moravec can play so easily is that he never reaches for anything — he moves his arms, not his hands, leaving his fingers in position.

The “Images” complete, it was time for Chopin, beginning with two Mazurkas, both in C-sharp minor. Mr. Moravec gave these little pieces great character, just the right amount of flair. His musical timing is amazing. And he closed his printed program with Chopin’s Barcarolle, in which he was less than his best self. He was a little sluggish and limp.

But the Barcarolle’s ending was superb. We heard beautiful, perfectly weighted chords in the left hand under perfectly rippling, even runs in the right. Classic Moravec.

There would be three encores, beginning with Chopin’s Prelude in A, one of the briefest pieces in all of music. It makes the “Minute Waltz” seem like “Die Meistersinger.” Mr. Moravec likes to use it as an encore, and he plays it with utter grace, as he did on Friday night. He next played Debussy’s “Serenade of the Doll” (a favorite encore of Horowitz’s, too). In the first measures, Mr. Moravec’s detached playing was exemplary: delicate, elegant, but sparky.

And, to bid the audience goodnight, something from the homeland: Smetana, played jauntily, pleasingly, and purely.

You couldn’t help noticing that, when it came time to bow, Mr. Moravec stepped out of the spotlight and into the shadows at the side of the stage. A modest man, yes, with little to be modest about. He is a pianist of the first rank. The crowd at the Met Museum was very sparse, filling what seemed like half the auditorium. We live in a world of hype, and Ivan Moravec is not hyped.

But I’m sure that he didn’t care about the size of the crowd: He was serving music, and setting an example for those around to hear.