Unlike the autodidact Arnold Schonberg or the quixotically trained Alban Berg, Anton Webern was a matriculated doctor of philosophy. He wrote a magnificent thesis on the work of medieval composer Heinrich Isaac. He was also a prominent conductor, especially of the symphonies of Mahler, and led the first recorded performance of Berg’s posthumous and popular Violin Concerto.

As a composer, Webern was a writer of haiku in an age of epic poetry. A deeply spiritual miniaturist whose motto was “the only road onward is inward,” Webern reacted to the fin de siecle trend of ever-expanding orchestras by producing a body of work that runs the gamut from small to tiny. In the time it took to read this paragraph, a performance of the second of his “Three Small Pieces for Cello and Piano” would already have been concluded.

Along with these cello gems, Webern’s rarely performed “Four Pieces for Violin and Piano” were on the program on Sunday afternoon when the MET Chamber Ensemble performed at the Weill Recital Hall. Why Weill and not Zankel, where there are many more seats? My theory is that Maestro James Levine, originally scheduled to supervise this concert, recognized the extremely important role that silence plays in the chamber pieces of the Second Viennese School and insisted on the quieter digs.

The first half of this recital centered around pianist Christopher Oldfather, who began with a brilliant performance of the music that might be considered the genesis of the Lilliputian trend, Schonberg’s “Six Little Piano Pieces.” Mr. Oldfather was especially impressive (and correct) in emphasizing the Romantic nature of this music.

His rendition of “Leicht, zart” was as pyrotechnical as any version of a Liszt barn burner. He was also especially adept at contrasting the blunt, forceful staccato in the left hand with the diaphanously dispersing broken chords in the right. Exciting when intoning the dramatic “Etwas rasch,” he quickly slipped into the contemplative for “Sehr langsam.” This is extremely difficult music to perform, and he did so superbly.

David Chan joined for the violin pieces. I had the great pleasure of listening to the violinist Felix Galimir talk about these works some years ago. He had been coached by Webern himself and pointed out the intense amount of emotional freight with which each note is laden.

From a purely technical point of view, the individual tones include their own dynamics, and there are tempo changes within individual measures. At this level of crystallization, even one small faux pas is magnified. It is in that spirit that I point out that Mr. Chan had some trouble with his downbowing. Had he been in the pit, sawing away at Pagliacci, this would have been a nonissue, but under Webern’s microscope, it became significant.

Next Jerry Grossman and Mr. Oldfather offered the three cello and piano pieces, which last less than three minutes in toto. The second piece, only a few seconds in length, was especially thrilling, filled with excitement and suggestive promise, what Schonberg described as “a whole novel in a single sigh.” For lovers of exquisite detail, this was ravishing music-making.

Berg didn’t really get it: His “Four Pieces for Clarinet and Piano” stand as the only small instrumental works in his output. These little aural vignettes are interesting, but some what dependent on cheap effects rather than well thought-out scrimshaw. Still, this performance by Steve Williamson and Mr. Oldfather was colorful and viscerally if not intellectually satisfying. Ironically, these pieces, because of their instrumentation, are programmed much more frequently than the others on the menu. After all, a violinist has hundreds of selections from which to choose, while a clarinetist does not.

Sergei Rachmaninoff grew to hate his Prelude in C-sharp minor because its popularity eclipsed his oth er works in the public mind. Beethoven had a similar experience with his Septet in E-flat major, Op. 20, which was the sole work of this concert’s second half. This is a very pleasant piece to be sure, but undeniably Beethoven Lite, a pastiche of tafelmusik with some good tunes but not much substance. Very well played by the Met ensemble, it sent the crowd out onto 57th Street humming.

This program was supposed to feature Mr. Levine conducting two other works, an obligatory piece by Elliott Carter – Maestro doesn’t seem to able to preside over an evening without either Mr. Carter or Charles Wuorinen in the mix – and the Felix Greissle arrangement of Schonberg’s revolutionary “Five Pieces for Orchestra.”

With Mr. Levine out of commission, the Met simply cut these two offerings, creating, as a result, an inor dinately compact concert. But considering that early evenings of this music in Vienna were destroyed by hooliganism and the subsequent police reaction to it, there is historical precedent for keeping this type of program on the short side.