The Last Defender of Entrevaux.

Unfortunately Rally Korsika was abandoned because of unexpected masses of snow. I had joined in for a trip to the rally, but suddently I was without activity that week-end in Nice. What to do? If not try the small vintage railway into Provence? By Le train de pignes - which means the pinecones train (because they used the pinecones to steam the enignes) - from Gare de Provence to Digne, a trip of almost three hours along the valley of the river Var.
     I managed the slow trip and the shaking on the hard seat until arriving at Entrevaux, about 60 km from Nice - and I don't know how much time. It seemed to go on forever. So - noticing the walled town of Entrevaux with a huge citadel on the top of a hillside, I decided to leave the train. This old town seemed more interesting than the old train.

      To enter the walled town I had to cross an old stone bridge high above the waters of the Var. The part nearest to the to towers guarding the entrance was a drawbridge, still hanging in its chains from long ago. Indeed from the 16th century when the king François 1st declared the town a Royal Town. Since Entrevaux at that time was a border town against Savoy, the king had to reinforce the old wall - as it is to-day. This I learned when sitting down in a café on the small square inside the gatehouse. Although, the waiter added, the town had its roots from early 11th century. So it looked from where I was sitting, an medieval town with narrow streets. The citadel on the top of the hill was however a later construction, made by the famous citadelbuilder Vauban in the 17th century. It was the very Napoleon that pushed the frontiers further to the east - to where Italy is to-day.
     Entrevaux did not seem as a special interesting place, apart from its citadel that have earned two stars in the Michelin guide. As far as I knew, no famous painter - or writer - had lived there, although this place is in the heart of Provence. The town itself did not stand out compared to other walled and fortified towns around Europe. Though - I would never sat down writing about Entrevaux if not for madame Monnet.
   
I learned her name just inside the gatehouse. On a piece of paper. It said that those interesting in visiting the citadel, might borrow the key by "Mme Monnet" paying 5 francs. The waiter indicated the adress mentioned on the paper as a narrow lane not far from the gateway for the path to the citadel.
     Crossing the gate without a key appeared to be of no problem. The gate was indeed closed, but the rest of the fence was laying on the ground - obviously thanks to active pupils from a nearby school. No problem to visit the citadel without paying some madame.
     But - maybe there was some organisation benefiting from this humble price, cheaper than an icecream. The gras was growing high on the path, so I guessed this organisation did not get a lot of income. Therefore I looked for the adress of madame Monnet.
     Madame lived on the first floor. The stairs were build in - before the invention of electricity. Nobody had cared to install this invention later on. I hardly got a glimse of the steps in the dim light. Fortunately there was a window with broken glas on the landing. This made me discover the door of "Mme Monnet". On the door was fixed another note telling about he key and "4 francs". I did not care about one franc more or less and knocked on the door.
     Madame Monnet seemed as old as the citadel - or the town itself. Thin, bent and wrinkled, dressed as dark as the surroundings. She was the representation of a life's struggle in a small rural town. I tried to be as polite as possible, asking for the key to the citadel. Obviously I spoke to loud because I though, from her appearance, she might be suffering from both eyesight and hearing. Madame hold the left hand to her head and waved the other against my face. I lowered my voice, but she interrupted me with a voice as sharp and ringing as when touching a noble wineglas with a knife. Why did I shout? Disturbing her at this time of the day was more than inconveniant! Of cause - I had entered in the siesta... This made my voice more like the broken window outside. Trying to tell I just had got off the Train de pignes, had seen the beauty of her town and the exciting citadel...
     She waved away my efforts of being polite, turned to an antique chest of drawers, picked up a huge key from a basket while saying something about "hundred francs". To which I remarked, "Pardon, madame, cent... francs?"
     My reaction was humble compared to hers. She swirled around as the pitcher in a baseball game, asking if I could not read, although being a stranger? Even if I interrupted her siesta! She pointed at another piece of paper close to the basket where she had kept the key.
     "ENTRÉE 5 FF; DÉPOT 100 FF."
     I was to pay the entrance fee, and - especially I, since being a stranger, a deposit for the key. Too many had dropped returning a key during the years. While I picked up the money, she handed me the key along with a signed receipt - and begged me not to come back until after the siesta.
     Still I wanted to show off some courtesy, and asked if I only had to follow the path... Madame sighed deeply, closing the door in my face while saying that donkeys had made the way to the citadel in ancient times. "They made it!"
     The door was shot before I managed an answer.

The climb was worth the money - and the effort. Not only discovering the citadel, but also sitting on the top eith a marvellous view down the Var valley. And down to the red tiles on the houses of Entrevaux. Without being able to notice the streets below the tiles. This citadel had been quite a defense at the time when Nice was called Nizza, located in an enemy territory.
     The hours passed quickly up on the fortress. A lot for both my eyes and my fantasy. Until I suddenly was "awaken" by the sounds of plates being piled up down below, telling me the siesta was at its end. Obviously from the restaurant on the other side of the Var. Where there was a note telling of a discount of 10 % on a meal if showing a day-trip ticket by the train. The train I had to catch for coming back to Nice.

I jogged downhill to Madame. She had a visitor. A nasty visit i seemed by the noises from their voices. Her door was ajar, but before I reached the landing, the door was slung open. A middleaged fellow in brown, short trousers and a blue T-shirt came dashing out, close to run me down. "Attention, monsieur!" ropte han. "Hun der inne er gal! Fullstendig gal!"
     His running down the steps did not prevent me from hearing the sharp voice from madame inside. "The government of France has giving me a medal of honour! My husband as well as my sons all died for La patrie! That is why they made me the honourary guardien of our citadel." I heared she was having trubble with her breath. "This fortress was built to keep you niçois out!"  
     When the door downstairs slamed, I dared to show my face in the opening. It was as the efforts left her when she recognized the hopeless stranger. "Alors!" var alt hun sa, leaning against the drawers. Her gray hair framed two sparkling eyes. In some bewildered seconds I imagined looking at the witch in Disney's drawing.
     Although - in spite of her sparkling eyes, her sharp voice... Something happened when she saw me, the hopeless, irritating foreigner. Reminding me the moment she gave me the key, even if I interrupted her resting period. A mix of dispair and resignation, but also of latin love - unrestrained passion and patient care.
     "He didn't want to trust me, that fellow from Nice," she explained while we changed key and deposit. It was the other way around - people from Nice was not to be trusted! Madame did not give in against an old enemy behind a frontier invisible for other than the locals - even if the enmity dated from centuries ago. A hostility reminding the citizens of Entrevaux every time they looked up to their two star citadel.
     If there were more people like madame Monnet at the time of Vauban, he did not have to build the citadel at all.

                                                      Yours Thor Thorstensen