“Marine! Marine! Marine!”, the room chants with one voice, before starting the countdown. The results appear on the giant screen: the RN is in the lead in the first round of the legislative elections. In Hénin-Beaumont (Pas-de-Calais), Marine Le Pen’s campaign evening capsized.
Sitting in the front rows, a woman in her sixties is holding back tears of joy. Her husband, also moved, gently places his hand on her shoulder.
She finally sheds a few tears when the audience sings the Marseillaise.
The packed room seems bewitched. In the background, a thirty-something in a white shirt and black tie frantically shakes the French flag that was given to him at the entrance.
Right in front, a two-year-old girl in a red dress also waves her blue-white-red flag, which she watches as it moves above her.
“Bravo Steeve!” shouts a young woman when Steeve Briois, mayor of the town, appears, accompanied by Bruno Clavet and Bruno Bilde, respectively candidates in the 3rd and 12th constituencies of Pas-de-Calais.
The activists had barely sat down when the star of the evening, Marine Le Pen, who had been in the wings until then, came on stage. A few metres away from her, two men in their forties embraced vigorously, then listened to her with admiration.
Leaning on the bar, a man who is gulping down his champagne in large gulps reacts with loud cries when Marine Le Pen calls for the arrival of Bardella at Matignon: “Yeah!”, he shouts with his fist raised.
– “Take pictures!” –
“We want France!” shouts another, out of time, attracting the wrath of his neighbors who are all ears for their MP, who announces her re-election in the first round.
Her speech finished, Marine Le Pen provokes a movement of the crowd by going down to greet the public. Several people almost come across a lady in a wheelchair.
A little girl with a frilly blue-white-red headband, adorned with two small flags, approaches less than a meter from the MP.
“Marine!” she says timidly, without managing to catch his attention. “Scream louder,” her sister tells her, before turning to a friend: “Grab my phone, take pictures!”
Jean-Marie Le Pen’s daughter finally leaves the room, followed by a handful of supporters.
The others, encouraged by the magnitude of the victory, head towards the bar, where beers and glasses of champagne follow one another.
The absolute majority for the far-right party, everyone seems to believe it: at the gates of power, Jordan Bardella will have a free hand, they want to believe.
In the slowly emptying room, the political leaders who appear on the giant screens are judged by the applause meter: boos for the members of the majority, loud applause – but less than for Marine Le Pen – during Jordan Bardella’s speech. Deep indifference for Eric Ciotti.
When Jean-Luc Mélenchon appears, a septuagenarian pretends to spit on the ground.
