The gigantic struggle lasted three days—­and the close of the third day brought to the conqueror, Bonaparte, the laurel-wreath of undying glory, which, more enduring and dazzling than an imperial crown, surrounded with a halo the hero’s brow long after that crown had fallen from it.

This was the victory of Arcola, which Bonaparte himself decided by snatching from the flag-bearer the standard of the retreating regiment, and rushing with it, through a shower of balls, over the bridge of death and destruction, and, with a voice heard above the thundering cannon, shouting jubilant to his soldiers—­“En avant, mes amis!” And bravely the soldiers followed him—­a brilliant victory was the result.

Elevated by this deed, the grandest and most glorious of his heroic career, Napoleon returned to Verona on the 19th November.  The whole city—­all Lombardy—­sang to his praise their inspired hymns, and greeted with enthusiasm the conqueror of Arcola.  He, however, wanted a sweeter reward; and. after obtaining a second victory, on the 23d of November, by defeating Wurmser near Mantua, he longed to rest and enjoy an hour’s happiness in the arms of his Josephine.

From Verona he wrote to her on the day after the battle of Mantua, on the 24th of November: 

“I hope soon to be in your arms, my beloved one; I love you to madness!  I write by this courier for Paris.  All is well.  Wurmser was defeated yesterday under Mantua.  Your husband needs nothing but the love of his Josephine to be happy.  Bonaparte.”

But the most terrible doubts hung yet over this love.  The letter in which Napoleon announced his coming had not reached Josephine; and, as the next day he came to Milan with all the cravings and impatience of a lover, he did not find Josephine there.

She had not suspected his coming; she had not dreamed that the commanding officer could stop in his victorious course and give way to the lover.  She thought him far away; and, ever faithful to Bonaparte’s direction to assist him in the conquest of Italy, she had accepted an invitation from the city of Genoa, which had lately and gladly entered into alliance with France.  The most brilliant festivities welcomed her in this city of wealth and palaces, and “Genova la superba” gathered all its magnificence, all the splendor of its glory, to offer, under the eyes of all Europe, her solemn homage to the wife of the celebrated hero of Arcola.

While Josephine, with joyous pride was receiving this homage, Bonaparte, gloomy and murmuring, sat in his cabinet at Milan, and wrote to her: 

“Milan, the 7th Frimaire, Year V.,” Three o’clock. afternoon (November 27, 1796).

“I have just arrived in Milan, and rush to your apartments.  I have left every thing to see you, to press you in my arms; .... you are not there!  You are pursuing a circle of festivities through the cities.  You go away from me at my approach; you trouble yourself no more about your dear Napoleon.  A spleen has made you love him; inconstancy renders you indifferent.