TWO ghosts haunted a “counter-summit” of Europe’s nationalist leaders in the German city of Koblenz on January 21st: Angela Merkel and Donald Trump. To the 1,000-odd visitors in attendance, most of them supporters of the anti-establishment Alternative for Germany (AfD) party, Mrs Merkel epitomised everything that is rotten in Europe: out of touch, elitist and besotted with immigrants. (Chants of “Merkel must go!” punctuated the day’s speeches.) The energy of Mr Trump’s inauguration the previous day, by contrast, crackled through the proceedings. “Last year the wind began to turn,” said Geert Wilders, leader of the Dutch Freedom Party. “It brought us the victory of Donald Trump!” The crowd cheered and whooped—for if America, why not Europe?

Koblenz brought together the leaders of populist, nationalist parties from Germany, France, Italy, the Netherlands and elsewhere under the banner of the “Europe of Nations and Freedom,” their collective grouping in the European Parliament. That in itself was unusual: feuds and personality clashes have long marred attempts by these groups to find common cause. But although parties like France’s National Front, led by Marine Le Pen, and Austria’s Freedom Party are well established, they are surfing a new wave of success; several of the parties at the summit are leading polls in their respective countries. Plainly, they see themselves at the vanguard of a movement.

The leaders did not need to strain to find common themes. It was a familiar set of tunes, from attacks on unaccountable elites to Brussels-bashing to fear-mongering about African birth rates. Mr Wilders, fresh from a criminal conviction for inciting racial discrimination, delivered his usual absurdity-flecked attack on immigrants, declaring at one point that European blondes are growing afraid to show their hair for fear of being attacked by immigrants.

Behind the invective lurked an inchoate vision of Europe as a consortium of sovereign nations, free from elite-imposed cultural straitjackets and the impurities of foreigners. There were game efforts at internationalism; speeches were subtitled and the hall festooned with a rainbow of national flags. Each leader peppered his or her speeches with praise for the others, particularly Frauke Petry, the AfD’s co-leader and the day’s unofficial host. Ms Petry summed up the creed well, declaring “elites” to be “the real anti-Europeans”.

Outside the conference hall visitors quickly resolved the paradox of an internationalist rally of nationalists. AfD members were comforted to hear their views proclaimed by politicians from abroad. “It gives us the feeling we are not alone,” said a visitor from Hessen, who had driven to Koblenz with eight friends; the German press, all agreed, twisted their words and made them feel like pariahs. (Having been warmly received himself, your correspondent observed two AfD members give the cold shoulder to a reporter from ARD, the German public broadcaster. Other media were simply denied accreditation.)

But a range of other grievances revealed themselves. Chief among them, unsurprisingly, was anger with Mrs Merkel’s policy towards asylum-seekers. “Our streets are falling apart, and yet we pay for refugees to visit swimming pools,” said Matthias Niemeyer, an AfD member from the north German state of Schleswig-Holstein. Other laments included the chancellor’s hasty abolition of nuclear power and her insistence on making an enemy of Vladimir Putin, Russia’s president. Mr Trump’s election was welcomed, if more as inspiration than deliverance; Germany stands to lose more than most if America takes a protectionist turn.

It was an important outing for the AfD, which has lately seen its support stagnate between 12% and 15%. Some party bigwigs find Ms Le Pen’s economics a little dirigiste for their taste, and were uneasy to see Ms Petry share a stage with her. The party’s libertarian roots were discernible in Ms Petry’s attack on German politicians who nanny citizens into eating or drinking a certain way. She also took a few shots at “nudging”, a public-policy technique that borrows insights from behavioural psychology.

But the day, most agreed, belonged to Ms Le Pen. She thrilled the largely middle-aged crowd with her call for a “patriotic spring”, casting the gathering as a revolution of right-thinking folk with the future on their side, while the “dogmatic” cling to dusty artefacts of the past like the European Union. Ms Le Pen is an arresting speaker, injecting flashes of humour into her delivery and pausing in the right places; unlike the other leaders she appeared to forge an emotional bond with her audience. It is easy to see why she poses such a threat to France’s establishment.

Yet behind the comity lurked a familiar flaw. The “counter-summit”, as its name hints, was fuelled by discontent with the mainstream rather than anything resembling a programme. There was vanishingly little to the speeches beyond complaints, xenophobia and martyr complexes. Sceptical voters might have wondered exactly what Ms Le Pen’s policy on France’s euro membership is; how Ms Petry hopes to integrate the hundreds of thousands of refugees who have already reached Germany; or how Italy’s secessionist Northern League (represented by its leader Matteo Salvini) can respond to the challenge of its more successful populist rival, Beppe Grillo’s 5-Star Movement.

Still, none of this will trouble the leaders. The parties they represented in Koblenz are unlikely to win power in their respective upcoming elections (although victory for Ms Le Pen cannot be ruled out). But their influence is already being felt. On January 23rd Mark Rutte, prime minister of the Netherlands, wrote an “open letter” suggesting that anyone who dislikes Dutch values should leave. François Fillon, the favourite in the French presidential elections this spring, said his country was closed to refugees. Mr Wilders and Ms Pen could not have put it better themselves.