The Elisabet Ney museum in Austin is rather unique. It retains the aura of Elisabet, the firebrand and enormously talented woman sculptor from the 19th century. Like many of us, who left home and found a new country, she moved from the flourishing world of European art and culture, and made Hyde Park, Austin, her new home. She was fiercely and independently creative, a social maverick, a sculptor of classic and exquisite tradition and talent. She broke ceilings hither and thither, left her mark on world sculpture and a museum that hosts a rare and fine collection of her works.
I love my time here as a docent. People drop in, curious about this niche museum that resembles a fortress, surrounded by an unruly prairie landscape. I see awe on the visitors’ faces as they see the marble-white sculptures; Kind Ludwig II of Bavaria erect in his regalia, Prometheus chained to the rock, Lady Macbeth wringing her hands in distress, Stephen Austin and Sam Houston, standing tall, looking contemplative and pleased.
I tell the visitors about her remarkable life; often we talk more about her than the collection. People are awestruck at her achievements, at her progressive take on the world in 1800s. The museum is her original studio and home, built in 1890s. People want to know why she left Germany, her birthplace; who was this man she married and called her best friend; why did she end up in Texas of all places. The gray brick walls, the worn wood floor and the narrow rustic stairway, add to that romance.
As I tell tales of her life and work, her advocacy of women’s rights and social justice, I hear her voice in my head, still strong, still as indomitable as ever.
Some evenings, after the last visitor has left and we close up and switch off the lights, I look over my shoulders; my neck tingles. I feel I am leaving behind an electrifying place, kind of like a monarch’s crypt or an Egyptian tomb. I imagine movement and hushed whispers as darkness falls.
In my bed at night, I see more.
Elisabet descends from her large portrait on the wall and paces about in resolute strides, shaking her short dark curls in indignation at the ills of the world.
She stops by Prometheus.
“Why are you still in chains?” she shouts.
“Some chains cannot be broken,” Prometheus answers, his face downcast.
“All chains must be broken,” she shouts again. “We vote now, I mean the women, we have rights, we are heads of state; we choose our own education and career.”
“Is that true everywhere?” Prometheus asks calmly.
Elisabeth snorts, a few curls fly upwards.
“You were tormented for too long; you have lost your sense of invincibility.”
She walks over to Otto Von Bismarck.
“I really cannot tolerate the chaos that is enveloping the world,” he says.
“The world was always in chaos,” Elisabet replies. “Think of how I had to leave my country. Texas wasn’t an easy place for someone like me. But, I made it mine, made it better.”
“I wanted to set up the first welfare state. I see that practice is thriving in very few countries.”
“Yes, yes, but too many problems aren’t solved. Human rights are violated, political refugees are suffering, too many marginalized because they are different, too much profiteering, women are still being held back, no one wants to read treatises written by people like Edmund. Too much needs fixing,” her voice trembles.
King Ludwig II 
Lady Macbeth 
Prometheus Chained
“Elisabet,” a faint voice calls out her name. Lady Macbeth wrings her hands.
“Help me to get the damned spot,” she says.
“I can’t. I can only fix cracks,” she walks away.
“Not a crack but blood,” says the Lady.
“Blood often makes the biggest cracks,” Elisabet sighs.
She stands facing Ludwig II of Bavaria and lovingly touches his floral robe.
“I wish I was born now,” says Ludwig in a childlike voice.
“Yes, Ludwig, some things would have been easier for you now,” says Elisabet.
“Do people still listen to Wagner? Can we play some now?” he asks.
“No way to play any music here right now. It’s a bloody museum.”
“That’s wonderful. You are immortal and people get to see your work,” he laughs.
“I guess so. You have no idea how many millions go to see your Neuschwanstein every year.”
Ludwig sighs happily.
“I always knew. People cannot stay away from beauty and art.”
Stephen Austin snorts in the other room.
“Beauty and art did not create Texas. We had to fight hard.”
“And the fight continues.. everywhere you see people are still fighting, for rights, for land, for statehood, for liberation from oppressors,” Elisabet rattles on. She pauses and says, “Do you like the city they named after you?”
“I do. I think it’s a fine city. I only brought 300 families; see how many have moved now. People are power. We must not forget that.”
“People need leaders like you, Stephen,” says Elisabet
“People who love their country always know what to do. You must belong – passionately, wholeheartedly.”
Elisabet walks away. She stops in front of Ludwig and sighs.
“You should be happy, Elisabet, you should be proud of all that you have achieved,” says Ludwig, his voice calm and soporific. “It’s time for us to sleep.”
“But, there’s too much that needs to be done,” her voice is fretful.
“Leave that to those who are not in marble,” he says.
Doves begin to coo in Hyde Park. Faint rays of first light fall on the northern windows.
All is quiet in the museum.