make and change my arrangements. Those inevitable dis-
tractions did, perhaps, prevent me from succumbing to my
grief. I strongly wish that some very difficult problem to
solve could be proposed to you, which would force you to
think of other things. There is, in truth, no remedy but
that and time. We are like rivers that keep their name
while their waters are forever changing. When a part of
the molecules that compose us are replaced by others, the
memory of objects which gave us pleasure or grief is weak-
ened, because, really, we are not the same men, time is
renewing us incessantly. This is a thought for the un-
happy, and every one who thinks ought to make use of it.
I rejoiced for myself at the thought of seeing you here, and now I rejoice for you ; you will see new objects and other persons. I warn you that I shall do all that depends on me to take from your memory whatever may remind you of sad and grievous things, and I shall feel as much joy in tranquillizing your mind as I do in winning a battle. Not that I thiuk myself a great philosopher, but because I have an unhappy experience of the state in which you are, and I feel I am in that way better fitted than others to tranquillize you. Come, then, my dear d'Alembert ; be sure of being well received, and of finding, not perfect remedies for your sor- rows, but lenitives and anodynes.
D'Alemhert to the King of Prussia.
Sire, very violent and continual headaches which for three weeks have prevented me from writing and thinking and are the sad result of my mental condition, have seemed to me the more cruel because they have not permitted me to reply sooner to the letter which your Majesty has written to me about my grief. What a letter. Sire ! and how few — I do
