Here she once lay. In a graveyard next to Boulevard Haussmann in Paris, next to her husband, Louis XVI, King of France. Quite nice a spot for someone who had a death sentence to endure. I think most of the others who made it to the guillotine on Place de la Concorde during the French revolution weren’t exhumed as soon as the winds had changed, just to spend their eternity a little nicer, rather in a peaceful little graveyard in Paris’ eighth arrondissement than in a mass grave. But as soon as she had been exhumed and was buried on this little spot, they made her move again – “they”, she never ever had a say in this, “they” made her leave Austria and marry the King of France, “they” decided she was spending too much money on frivolous things, “they” declared her unworthy and chopped off her head, “they” didn’t even stop after her death, “they” made her rotting corpse run from pillar to post and brought her to the basilica of St.Denis, she was to meet her relatives, French side of the family only of course, and here, on square Louis XVI, “they”, namely Louis XVIII, had a little chapel erected, the chapelle expiatoire, to remember her by. Which I did. Her and her flamboyant extravagances.