A sudden change of scene occurs.  At a sign from Venus, the grotto and its voluptuous figures disappear; the roseate light makes way for the glaring sunshine, and Tannhaeuser, who has not moved, suddenly finds himself upon the hillside, near the highroad and the shrine of the Virgin, and within sight of the Wartburg castle, where he formerly dwelt and won many a prize for his beautiful songs.  The summer silence is at first broken only by the soft notes of a shepherd singing a popular ballad about Holda, the Northern Venus, who issues yearly from the mountain to herald the spring, but as he ceases a band of pilgrims slowly comes into view.  These holy wanderers are all clad in penitential robes, and, as they slowly wend their way down the hill and past the shrine, they chant a psalm praying for the forgiveness of their sins.  The shepherd calls to them asking them to pray for him in Rome, and, as they pass out of sight, still singing, Tannhaeuser, overcome with remorse for his misspent years, sinks down on his knees before the Virgin’s shrine, humbly imploring forgiveness for his sins:—­

   ’Oh, see my heart by grief oppressed! 
    I faint, I sink beneath the burden! 
    Nor will I cease, nor will I rest,
    Till heavenly mercy grants me pardon.’

While he is still kneeling there, absorbed in prayer, the Landgrave and his minstrel knights appear in hunting costume.  Their attention is attracted by the bowed figure of the knight, and when he raises his head they recognise him as their former companion.  Some of the minstrels, jealous of his past triumphs, would fain regard him as their foe, but, influenced by one of their number, Wolfram von Eschenbach, they welcome him kindly and ask him where he has been.  Tannhaeuser, only partly roused from his half lethargic state, dreamily answers that he has long been tarrying in a land where he found neither peace nor rest, and in answer to their invitation to join them in the Wartburg declares he cannot stay, but must wander on forever.  Wolfram, seeing him about to depart once more, then reminds him of Elizabeth, the fair chatelaine of the Wartburg, and when he sees that, although Tannhaeuser trembles at the mere sound of the name of the maiden he once loved, he will nevertheless depart, he asks and obtains the Landgrave’s permission to reveal a long kept secret.

Wolfram himself has long loved the fair Elizabeth, but such is his unselfish devotion that he would fain see her happy even with a rival.  To win the light back to her eyes and the smile to her lips, he now tells Tannhaeuser how she has drooped ever since he went away, and generously confesses that she took pleasure in his music only, and has persistently avoided the minstrel hall since his departure.  His eloquent pleading touches Tannhaeuser’s reawakening heart, and he finally consents to accompany the Landgrave and his minstrels back to the Wartburg.  Hither they now make their way on foot and on horseback, singing a triumphal chorus:—­