Jean-Yves Thibaudet knows how to choose a recital program. And for Wednesday night at Carnegie Hall, he chose a particularly appealing one: Schumann in the first half, Ravel in the second. Choosing aside, how did the French pianist play this program? With his customary excellence (is the short answer).

The Schumann with which Mr. Thibaudet began was the “Arabeske” – and it was the fastest “Arabeske” you’ve ever heard. Yet it seemed logical, having a nice flow to it. And the best thing about this tempo was that the slower episodes – often static – were not too slow at all. As usual, Mr. Thibaudet followed the melodic line beautifully. And he gave this work a marvelous impetuosity. This was not merely a matter of tempo, but of spirit.

On the whole, Schumann’s “Arabeske” was full of character, intelligence, life. You may have disagreed with Mr. Thibaudet’s notions – but at least this pianist doesn’t come from a cookie cutter.

He next tackled the Symphonic Etudes (and again, this is Schumann). The composer wrote a great bunch of these etudes – which are also variations – but he eventually selected 12, to make a neat, brilliant work. Five other etudes were published posthumously.

And, on Wednesday night, Mr. Thibaudet incorporated all of them, giving us a set of 17.This is a defensible decision, and certainly an interesting one. But I maintain that Schumann knew what he was doing. He was a very good editor. (And, incidentally, he was a magazine editor – as well as a shrewd shaper of his musical output.)

As you would have expected, Mr. Thibaudet did many, many things well in the Symphonic Etudes. He showed his astonishing smoothness and limpidity. His dexterity and flair. Tender moments were especially good, for no one can caress a phrase like Mr. Thibaudet. And the music often had an unusual lightness, seeming to travel on vapors.

Yet there were problems. As in the “Arabeske,” Mr. Thibaudet was very, very fast – these etudes sometimes wore Rollerblades. You must not dawdle, but you have to savor a little, too, at certain points. Also, Mr. Thibaudet’s sound should have been more robust and muscular, in various etudes.A little Frenchness never hurt anyone, including Schumann (and I have said as much). But a more Germanic weight was often in order. Melodies sometimes sounded bleached.

Perhaps the most lovable of all the etudes is No. 7. It’s sly and slinky, but also bravura. And, in Mr. Thibaudet’s hands, it was careless, thoughtless – rushed through, completely unexploited. And the Finale was a disaster. Not only a disaster, but an incomprehensible one. It is stately, grand, noble, uplifting. But from Mr. Thibaudet, it was limp and flabby. It needed much more authority, including proper rhythm.

Mr. Thibaudet was clearly not himself here.

But he returned to himself in the second half of the program. Mr.Thibaudet is one of the great Ravelians in the world – ever, actually – and he has duly recorded the complete works. In Carnegie Hall, he played the “Valses nobles et sentimentales,” and he brought all the qualities you would have wanted. These included insouciance, subtlety, and gaiety. This music ought to make you smile, from its sheer pleasurability, and it did.

Mr. Thibaudet ended his printed program with “Gaspard de la nuit” – that province of the most wizardly pianists (Samson Francois, Arturo Benedetti Michelangeli, his student Martha Argerich). Mr. Thibaudet was as wizardly as any of them, and probably defter and more nuanced, too. The “Ondine” section of this work positively shimmered. And “Le Gibet” was utterly mesmeric, with that repeated rhythm. (How did Mr. Thibaudet manage to play those B flats with the same consistency time after time?)

The third and final section,”Scarbo,” began with pure sorcery – and Mr. Thibaudet got nothing but more diabolical, though saucily diabolical: This is not Liszt’s devil, say – it’s Ravel’s.

I was hoping that, after this Impressionistic blizzard, Mr. Thibaudet would play some Bach, for an encore. It would have been clarifying and restoring, for one thing. But he played Chopin – the Nocturne in B-flat minor. As he played it, it became obvious why he’d chosen it: He plays it surpassingly well. The nocturne was amazingly urgent – though this was a quiet urgency – and plangent and lovely.

Then he paid tribute to Shura Cherkassy, the old-style piano virtuoso who died in 1995. Mr.Thibaudet played Cherkassy’s “Prelude pathetique,” and he did so in a manner befitting the late master.Wistfulness and nostalgia filled Carnegie Hall.

Finally – “Clair de lune.” And, I swear, the moon should have been envious. I could write for paragraphs about what Mr. Thibaudet did, but let me simply tell you this: This was the most beautiful, most intelligent, most transporting “Clair de lune” I have ever heard.