The first violins of the St. Louis Symphony were given a special bow at Friday evening's performance. They deserved it.

Rapid, accurate and beautifully articulated, their contribution to a dazzling performance of Schumann's Symphony No. 2 was spine-tingling. Their most spectacular display came in the scherzando passages of the second movement; as a section, they went the extra mile. The results were not only professional, but indelibly memorable. This is rare in modern orchestral playing, and oh so welcome.

Except for minor difficulties in the opening fanfare, the entire orchestra rendered the Schumann symphony with extraordinary care and refinement.

Schumann is a specialty of conductor Hans Vonk, and it's easy to hear why. He elicited a sound that is peculiarly appropriate to Schumann - and difficult to describe. One is tempted to call it a compound of the classical, sparkling textures of Weber and Mendelssohn, mixed with something more unruly; but that "something" is elusive. The bravura strain in this orchestral sound is vigorous and sunny, as in Schumann's greatest piano works, but it is vigorous in its own way, with little suggestion of Beethoven's unbuttoned bluster or Brahms' hearty density. It was a Schumann sound new to these ears, and it was a revelation.

Mozart was well-served Friday, as well. Pianist Ivan Moravec, the greatest Czech player of our day and one of the finest Chopinists of his generation, performed Mozart's Piano Concerto 25. It was an endearing performance, filled with unexpected but convincing new insights.

Moravec's tone in the Mozart was small, but not retiring. It glittered not like sun on still water, but rather as if glinting off shiny stones a few feet below the surface. Passage work was limpid and even, but never spiky; rubato was used sparingly but with amusing effect.

Moravec's opening phrase in the second movement began somewhat squat and unrefined; he then "turned" it in subsequent passages, like adding detail to wood on a lathe. His returns to the theme in the rondo finale were a sly dance of resistance and affection, rubato used ever so lightly to tease and delay. Woodwind lines paralleling the soloist were done with consummate ensemble delicacy and precision.

Dutch composer Rudolf Escher's "Musique pour I'esprit en deuil" opened the concert. This half-century-old orchestral poem demands a huge orchestra; the composer, however, uses it with admirable restraint. Many of the instruments, including saxophone, are heard only for accents and color; one hears intimations of cliched large-orchestral staples from the period - Ravel and Hollywood, for instance - but they remain mere suggestions. The orchestration overall is unique and effective.

The work opens with a stealthy pedal tone; it is a mysterious sound and is attention-grabbing. The structure of the work is a simple arch, with a dramatic, harrowing build-up of increasing grotesquerie and desperation; after a long, sustained climax, elegiac passages return and the work ends much as it begins.

The music is convincing, lyrical and intriguingly chromatic.