The _Konzertstück_ in F minor is a much bigger work. We quote from Grove’s Dictionary the translation of the story which it tells: ‘The Châtelaine sits all alone on her balcony, gazing far away into the distance. Her knight has gone to the Holy Land. Years have passed by, battles have been fought. Is he still alive--will she see him again? Her excited imagination calls up a vision of her husband lying wounded and forsaken on the battlefield. Can she not fly to him and die by his side? She falls back unconscious. But Hark! what notes are those in the distance? Over there in the forest, something flashes in the sunlight; nearer and nearer, Knights and Squires with the cross of the Crusaders, banners waving, acclamations of the people, and there--it is he! She sinks into his arms. Love is triumphant. Happiness without end. The very woods and waves sing the song of love. A thousand voices proclaim his victory.’ Probably the music which Weber wrote to this story of olden days has had as great a measure of popular admiration and acclaim as any piece that has ever been written for the pianoforte. Much of it is beautiful. The opening measures for the orchestra are equal to any of the pages from _Der Freischütz_ or from _Euryanthe_; the solo passages for the pianoforte which follow have a fine breadth; the march theme, which, _pianissimo_, announces the return of the Crusaders is effective, rather in the manner of Meyerbeer, a fellow-student with Weber at the feet of the Abbé Vogler. On the other hand, much of the display work given to the pianoforte is hopelessly old-fashioned. We have the Weber staples again, the tum-tum bass, the close-rolling arpeggios repeated endlessly, the busy little figure before mentioned, which here, as in the famous Rondo in C, scampers from low to high. The final motives, which represent universal joy, are trivial, banal. Even the _glissando_ octaves have now only the shine of tinsel, and much is sadly tarnished. But on the whole there is a fresh spirit in the work, an enjoyment, frank and manly, in the brilliancy of the pianoforte; an abandonment to the story, that still may carry a listener along.