On Wednesday evening, two Austro-German pianists gave recitals in New York. One was Alfred Brendel, venerated as a sage; the other was Christian Zacharias, not venerated, but a man who deserves a much larger reputation than he has. He is a pianist of rare understanding and ability. He is also a conductor of no little effectiveness.

One of the greatest performances of Mozart I have heard — ever — came from Mr. Zacharias, two seasons ago. Conducting from the keyboard, he played the Concerto in B flat, K. 456, with the New York Philharmonic. He might have been channeling Mozart himself. Other performances, of course, have been more mortal.

At the Rose Theater two nights ago, he played a program of Scarlatti, Beethoven, and Schumann. Typical for a piano recital, right? But not in the order Mr. Zacharias chose. He began with the Romantic piece: Schumann’s “Kinderszenen,” or “Scenes from Childhood.” He continued with the Beethoven sonata. And his second half was devoted to Scarlatti sonatas, or “esercizi” (“exercises”), as the composer called them: 10 of them.

Whether this order has ever been used in the history of recitals, I’m not sure. It was not only unusual but arguably eccentric.

The first of Schumann’s scenes was rather odd: full of rubato, of toying with time. It was borderline mannered. This work is much better off begun straight, or at least more straight. Also, Mr. Zacharias used more pedal than was advisable. The second scene had a decent martial snap, if some unwanted heaviness. The third was rough, with the pianist not entirely in control of his fingers. This is not like Mr. Zacharias.

But his interpretation eventually took hold; you could become absorbed in the scenes, kind of float away. Mr. Zacharias took care to bring out inner voices — he sometimes did this to a fault. And he played with sweep, but not a sweep too grand: These are children’s scenes, after all.

In brief, Mr. Zacharias’s playing was marked by what we can only call civilization. He is a civilized man.

The Beethoven sonata was an early one: that in E flat, Op. 7. This composer was one of the few who did not need much seasoning, incidentally: He was great off the bat. And Mr. Zacharias did well by Op. 7. In the first movement, he was unforced and not too brilliant — very important. Tonally, he was laidback. What I mean is, he was shrewd — restrained, modulated — in his dynamics.

The slow movement had a religioso feel, entirely welcome. Each line was wisely phrased, and the movement at large was wisely shaped. Also, Mr. Zacharias knows how to play his chords: into the keys, moving northward. As for the last two movements, they were utterly mature, the products of a mature pianist (and composer).

And then that second half of Scarlatti. Several of our favorites were in Mr. Zacharias’s set of 10, and a few were off the beaten path. Mr. Zacharias began with the Sonata in E, K. 162. Scarlatti wrote more great sonatas in E than most of us have written checks.

There are a couple of basic ways to play Scarlatti: You can play him clean, pure, and pristine; or you can play him more fully, more boldly. (I oversimplify grossly.) Mr. Zacharias leaned in the second direction. He was very pianistic, as one should be, playing the piano. You heard little surges and so forth. And he was generous with the pedal — sometimes too generous.

His playing was not perfectly clean, and he was guilty of some inappropriate slurring. Also, some of his playing was heavy and clumsy. For example, it was this way in the wonderful, quasi-rapid-fire Sonata in G, K. 13. But in another G-major sonata — K. 2 (reminds you of a mountain) — the pianist’s trills were very snazzy.

Halfway through this set, Mr. Zacharias played a sonata in B minor. The one Horowitz loved and favored? No, another one, K. 27 — and from Mr. Zacharias it was all too soupy. But other sonatas were top-of-the-line: for example the Sonata in C, K. 132, and the Sonata in D minor, K. 213. These sounded very, very Spanish. And Spain was the Italian Scarlatti’s adopted country.

I have to tell you, I am a bit of a heretic, in the following way: I don’t think you absolutely, positively have to take the repeats in Scarlatti sonatas, especially when you play lots of them. But Mr. Zacharias is not a heretic.

Often, pianists use Scarlatti sonatas as encores. But what do you play for an encore after you’ve played 10 of those? I guess you play more of them. Mr. Zacharias announced that he wanted to give us a dozen, and so he did. For encores, he played a sonata in B flat, which was exquisite; and then another one in G — which was also very fine. Then he left the stage.

Again, Mr. Zacharias is a civilized man, and it was a pleasure to spend two hours in his company. The company of Scarlatti, Beethoven, and Schumann is not so bad either.