{On her way to Ostend, Belgium, H.P.B. stopped first in Cologne, then at the Gebhards in Elberfeld around May 11 or 12. Countess Wachtmeister returned home in Sweden for the summer, where she soon received news that H.P.B. had slipped on a parquet floor at the Gebhards, sprained her ankle and hurt her leg. A crippling rheumatism and sciatica detained her until early July when, with the help of the Gebhard family, she moved to Ostend with her sister and niece. Sinnett soon visited her there and found her once more hard at work on The Secret Doctrine.}
{Elberfeld}
20th
{May 1886}
Leg worse than first thought. Cripple in a regular way for life I'm afraid. In bed, and thankful that Master at Rudolph's prayer, delivered me of fearful agony and pain instantaneously. Now what is required is complete rest and patience. I can hardly write but will try to be transported on an armchair. I have written a good bit for the d—–d Memoirs. Why you should call this Memoirs passes my comprehension and that of other people who like it a good deal, as Mr. Gebhard does. Reminiscences would be far better and truthful. Certainly you would do far better if you came here. This accident threw me out of my hinges altogether. No letters, no papers, no clothes — all in Ostend! I came here for two three days and here I am ten days laid up! Pas de chance — positively. Ostend is not "beloved" by me. But I prefer it to anywhere else and really decline to go to England. I would not be a fortnight there that someone would pounce upon me. Its safe at Ostende as Belgium believe me. I go to Blankenberg several miles from Ostende where it is cheaper, far cheaper. My sister and niece will be with me whenever I wish; and she wants to have a regular cure for three or four weeks with warm salt water baths. She alone can pounce upon Solovioff and make him shake in his boots, and that she will, as her reputation is immaculate and she fears nothing. Well the poor Duchess has turned out a grand and really noble soul with all her little flapdoodles of Mary Queen of Scots and so on. She sticks to me so far and defends me like a lioness. Whether she succeeds or not heaven and karma know alone. But I care no more really. Well I believe M. Gebhard will invite you and then we will settle all. Far better than to write. Love to Mrs. S. — and friends
Yours ever
H.P.B. "No Luck."
I am determined upon writing my shilling novel "The History of little 'No Luck,' who develops into 'big No Luck' " — a fairy tale of 11,000 and odd numbers A. S. A. See if I don't. It would sell like hot cakes signed by "H. P. Blavatsky."
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