Artur Rubinstein did not play Chopin’s Sonata in B-flat Minor for many, many years, because he twice had acquaintances die after such performances. The funereal content, of course, is what spooked him, but I think the sheer power of the piece also made him tremble. Like it or not, the sonata is forever associated with that third movement, in the same way the “Moonlight” is always immediately identified by its famous introduction. For a performance to be great, the funeral march must be great.

And so it was on Monday evening as Krystian Zimerman came closest to the level of communicating the music of heaven itself that any artist has achieved in some years. We knew it would be a superb night from the outset. Mr. Zimerman began the Mozart C Major Sonata, K. 330, with a touch so delicate that a well-known critic seated just behind me let out an instant and quite audible sigh. This primitive prediction was spot on, as the entire recital was of the highest possible caliber. The Allegretto in particular was pure Enlightenment joy, no impediments to the supreme bliss of ordered reason.

For me, the real test was the “Valse nobles et sentimentales” of Maurice Ravel. I do not especially care for this piece, but apparently I had never heard it played properly before. This Zimerman rendition was positively revelatory, the freedom of gigantic dynamic contrasts allowing him to squeeze all of the elan vital of the work right into my ears. His fortissimos were incredible, his pianissimos sublime. He also had the nerve to hold individual notes for an extremely long duration; the overtones echoed more and more faintly throughout the hall like stray moments of gamelan. Magical.

Okay, but we really came for this Pole’s signature Chopin, and we were not at all disappointed. The best performance of the night was the Ballade No. 4 in F Minor. Opening very mysteriously, it developed quickly as a surprisingly rubato-less traversal, relying for its power not on poetic phrasing but rather incisive and thoughtfully placed dynamic changes (and bags full of technique). Mr. Zimerman actually stopped dead at one point just before the final arpeggiated passages. And then, a breathtaking conclusion: My hands began to hurt just watching him play so accurately so fast.

After the interval were the Four Mazurkas, Op. 24, all presented as just slightly askew rhythmically. The second of these, in C Major, is the most famous, and I have never heard it better. The set seemed to be all one marvelous dream, oozing romance from its pores. To sit dispassionately and listen to this music critically is to ignore the basic subjective nature of the art form. Better to let oneself drift off into a reverie where the individual pieces form gorgeous parts of a sensuous whole. The magic was infectious and yet I was still able to force myself to do my job and appreciate the amazing dexterity necessary to sustain this diaphanous environment.

One of the most perceptive comments from that most eloquent of music critics, Robert Schumann, was that the B-flat Minor was really not a sonata at all, rather, Chopin had “…merely bound together four of his most reckless children.” In Mr. Zimerman’s hands, the children were really rambunctiously bipolar. The Grave first movement was thrilling and it was inspiring to watch how this master craftsman built such a noble yet troubled edifice – a statue of a Caesar. There was some sloppiness in the left hand, but one had to strain to hear it. Again, Mr. Zimerman held lone notes to the end of their spiraling circle of fifths, breaking with all tradition to forge a refreshingly new and harmonically logical approach.

The third movement was solemnly paced. This should not be necessary to state, except that I have heard many versions where it is not – I am convinced that Mahler wrote the third movement of his Symphony No. 1 in response to bad performances of this section. There was a decided inexorability to this reading that gave me chills. And, for a final masterstroke, Mr. Zimerman did not pause even one full beat before running through the insane Presto that is this work’s bizarre conclusion.

Reflecting on this recital in the tranquility of the next day, it definitely ranked in the top 10 live piano performances that I have ever heard, and, for some context, I was fortunate to hear Rudolf Serkin in his prime. In recent years, the only recital that even came close was here at Carnegie in 1999. And that was also a Krystian Zimerman evening.