On the Salzburg Festival menu this year was an evening of the Italian Baroque — dominated by one work: the Stabat mater of Pergolesi. This evening was to have featured one of the starriest singers on the planet: Anna Netrebko, the Russian soprano. But she canceled at almost the last minute, causing a bit of an uproar in this little town (a hotbed of intrigue, anyway). Ms. Netrebko said, simply, that she had laryngitis. Others were skeptical — and said that she had gone about her cancellation in a shabby way.

In any case, the festival substituted a soprano who, like Ms. Netrebko, is one of the best singers in the world: Christine Schäfer, a German. She was joined by Andreas Scholl, the starry German countertenor. (Can countertenors be starry? Yeah, today they can.)

Ms. Schäfer first sang an aria by Handel. But didn’t I say that this was an evening of the Italian Baroque? I did — but the Germanborn Handel was an honorary Italian, just as he was an honorary Englishman. He was a universal composer.

The aria was “Se pietà di me non senti,” from “Julius Caesar.” This is one of the greatest arias in Handel, and in opera. Frankly, it is one of the greatest things ever written. In the last years of her career, Leontyne Price began every recital with it. And Beverly Sills, of course, made a worldwide reputation with it (and other arias from “Julius Caesar”).

On this Friday night, Ms. Schäfer did not begin “Se pietà … ” promisingly. The first word was a mile early — “Sssss” — making her sound like a snake. Then she sang the aria politely, tidily, correctly — and unmovingly. She bleached her voice, and she imparted almost no soul. Also, there was insufficient variation between sections. Furthermore, there were awkward and unmusical pauses.

Look: You don’t have to be a Leontyne or a Beverly to sing this aria. That sort of richness and beauty is almost verboten today. But you have to convey at least a little passion — let the audience know you’re alive. This aria should absolutely slay us.

To her next aria, “Ombre pallide” from Handel’s “Alcina,” Ms. Schäfer gave more character, and the technique, no doubt, is a wonder: Her voice is perfectly placed, and her breathing exemplary.

Mr. Scholl sang a cantata by Vivaldi: “Cessate, omai cessate.” And he did so with due emotion and style. He was well-nigh jazzy in his Vivaldi (while remaining faultlessly Baroque). The guy has all the goods: voice, technique, and smarts. And, on this occasion, he showed an almost shocking lower register: baritonal, chesty. You don’t hear that every day from a countertenor.

I doubt Christine Schäfer has a greater admirer than I — and if you had told me, before the concert, that, in the first half, Andreas Scholl would sing her off the stage, I would have said you were high.

You may ask whether there was an orchestra in sight: There was. It was the Baroque Orchestra of Venice, led by Andrea Marcon, who is also its cembalist. Mr. Marcon conducted standing up, flat on the floor — and he had his keyboard on a podium before him. So he played standing up, too. That was one trick I had never seen.

On the first half of the program, the orchestra played one “sinfonia” and three concertos of Vivaldi. For the most part, they were crisp and refined, and they were certainly enthused.

One of the concertos was for lute, and our soloist was Ivano Zanenghi (wonderful name). The middle movement of this concerto — catalogued as RV 93 — is probably the most famous music ever written for lute. You’d recognize it instantly — if only from TV commercials and movies. Mr. Zanenghi suffered a few stumbles, but he was heartfelt, blissful: You have never seen a human being happier in his musicmaking.

Of Pergolesi’s Stabat mater, Christine Schäfer, Andreas Scholl, Andrea Marcon, and the rest gave a marvelous rendering. Really A-1.

The two voices blended beautifully, and you seldom have two singers of such purity side by side. They were precise, understanding, and musical. Honestly, there was hardly a lapse, hardly a mediocre note or phrase. And the orchestra was both vigorous and tasteful.

In one section — “Vidit suum dulcem natum” — Ms. Schäfer was positively spellbinding. And in the final section, before the Amen — “Quando corpus morietur” — one and all were riveting. You sensed that the audience was on the edge of its seat, almost holding its breath.

I know people whose favorite singer in all the world is Christine Schäfer; I know other people whose favorite singer is Andreas Scholl. Those are not dumb opinions.