Infamous Lady: The True Story of Countess Erzsébet Báthory

by Craft, Kimberly

  As it happened so often, upon his hasty return home, Ferenc Nádasdy ultimately managed to appease the ministry, likely through a substantial donation. In fact, Ferenc’s considerable donations to the Lutheran Church, as well as scholarship funds for students at Wittenberg University, continued even after his death. To our knowledge, the question of excommunication was never actually taken up or debated any further, and witnesses recounted that Lord Nádasdy and Pastor Magyari reconciled shortly thereafter. (In fact, when Catholic Cardinal Peter Pázmány suggested, shortly after Lord Nádasdy’s funeral, that Hungary’s war hero would not be going to heaven because of the violent life he led, Rev. Magyari himself engaged in a heated literary debate with Pázmány, defending the future of the Count’s soul.)

  The allegations of torture and murder slowed somewhat, for the time being. However, torture and murder had by now been tied to a secret location on Count Nádasdy’s property, and word was spreading amongst his peers and subjects that something was very wrong.

  Although Ferenc Nádasdy was probably furious with his wife for creating a public scandal, he himself was not innocent of the accusations. As mentioned, stories already circulated amongst the servants that he, too, enjoyed torturing servants and teaching his wife ways in which to discipline them. He was already known to be ruthless on the battlefield and sought retribution against his enemies in atrocious ways. At least once, he ordered the execution of captured prisoners “in the most heinous way possible.” He was also known to dance with the dead bodies of his enemies and throw their severed heads into the air or play “catch” and kickball with them.

  Ferenc Nádasdy could also be ruthless with his own men. In 1600, French and Flemish mercenaries, working for the Hapsburgs under Nádasdy and Adolf Schwarzenberg, were garrisoned in the market town of Pápa, not far from Sárvár. The general staff owed these men over 60,000 ducats in back pay. After making numerous demands without any luck, the troops then asked their Hungarian masters for the money. When refused, the men sent a secret delegate to the Turks, promising to turn over the town to him if the Turkish pasha could provide their money. The pasha sent 10,000 ducats, at which point, the troops took the money and began plundering the town for the rest.

  Schwarzenberg and Nádasdy rode in to put down the rebellion; when Schwarzenberg was killed in action, Ferenc Nádasdy assumed command. Securing a nearly immediate surrender, he then rounded up the rebel troops and ordered that they be “hanged with inhuman cruelty” to make an example of them. (For this, he received special honors in Vienna.)

  One particular gift Ferenc allegedly brought home to his wife was a device that resembled a hand of sharp claws that could be fitted over the fingers to cut, slash, and stab a victim. Ferenc would reputedly order servant girls to stand naked before him. It was reported that he once covered the younger sister of nursemaid, Ilona Jó, with honey and made her stand in the summer sun so as to be attacked by swarms of insects. When servant girls passed out or were thought to be lazy, Ferenc taught Erzsébet how to insert pieces of oiled paper between their toes and then light the papers on fire.

  It seems, however, that Ferenc stopped just short of murdering his own staff. János Újváry testified that, while Lord Nádasdy knew of what went on regarding the death of servant girls, he disapproved of their murder and actually forbade it. For Ferenc Nádasdy, image was everything. His wife followed his orders to some extent; the number of dead girls accrued in relatively small increments but then, after his death in 1604, escalated dramatically.

  One wonders what exactly provoked the Countess to torture and kill her adolescent servant girls. We do know that, at that particular time in Hungarian history, the series of wars and blood conflicts that had ravaged the land left a glut of young, unmarried women and a shortage of men. Historically, females were already viewed as less important than men and one might wonder if, in an odd way, the Countess actually felt as though she were doing a service for her lands by maintaining a sort of population control.

  It is also possible that the pathology began in the early to middle years of her marriage. As an adolescent, Erzsébet may very well have been brutalized herself at Sárvár in an effort to force her compliance into the role of a proper—and submissive—young wife and lady. Her husband likely brutalized her behind closed doors, as was customary at the time. Husbands were freely permitted to torture their wives into submission, to punish any act of disobedience, and to maintain their status as lord and master of the household. The effects of warfare at such a young age likely traumatized Ferenc himself. The stress of combat probably caused him to drink heavily when home on leave and to act out his aggression on family and servants.

  Erzsébet’s torturing seemed to start out slowly and progressively; first, with pinching, biting, and kicking, and then increasing in intensity and amount. Later, she advanced to pricking or sticking pins and needles into lips and under fingernails. After that, she progressed to inflicting burns on her victims, or cutting them with knives. These were all acts of meanness and cruelty, still adolescent in many ways, but not fatal.

  It appears, however, that when Erzsébet acted in concert with others, she found the courage to push the limits farther. She eventually learned how to torture in a serious way from her husband and Anna Darvolya. The profile of Erzsébet’s victims was almost always the same. The hundreds of witnesses who testified agreed that men were not targets of the Countess’ attacks and, for the most part, mature women generally were not, either. It was always an unmarried, adolescent girl.

  That is not to say, however, that older women were completely exempt from capital punishment for disobedience. Witness Ferenc Török, a yeoman (squire) and juror at Sárvár, along with a number of others, swore before the court that the Countess also murdered a married woman who once refused to follow orders. It was customary, at that time, to use unmarried virgin girls to work as table attendants during a certain festival. When she didn’t have enough young girls on hand, the Countess ordered an older woman to pretend to be one of the virgins and dress up like a young girl. It appears that she had ordered the woman to dress up as a girl on other occassions, as well. The lady’s name was Modl (or Modli). She had come either from Vienna, Bratislava, or Germany (witness accounts varied), and had been described as full-figured or matronly. Up until that point, she had actually been a favorite of the Countess and worked as a milliner.

  According to witnesses, however, the woman finally could no longer abide by the request to play the part of a child and apologized, “But certainly, my dear high and gracious Lady, I cannot be a girl since I already have a husband and a son, my little Ferenc.”

  The Lady became enraged at this. In her anger, she went and brought in a small log, commanding her to put it in diapers and carry it with her around the castle, saying, “Suckle your child, you whore. Don’t let it cry!” The Lady even woke her up at night, violently forcing the piece of wood to her breast as though it were a baby. Later, the witnesses said that the Lady tortured her in a variety of ways until she finally died.

  Although Sárvár Pastor István Magyari felt a moral compunction to speak up, as did certain local gentlemen, there were no real legal implications for what Erzsébet and her husband were doing or permitting to happen to their servant girls. By this point, Ferenc Nádasdy had distinguished himself in battle, rising to the title of High Stable Master, and was lending enormous sums of money to the Hungarian Crown. At his death, the Crown owed him nearly 18,000 gulden, an amount which even King Mátyás II (1557-1619) could not afford to repay. So long as Ferenc Nádasdy bankrolled the Hungarian Crown and Hapsburg Empire, no one dared touch him or his wife.

  In addition, victimization of the local people was quite common during that time. As discussed, the peasants who lived and worked on lands owned by nobility like the Báthorys or Nádasdys were considered property under the Act of 1517. The death of serving girls, by torture or otherwise, might raise an eye or the ire of the pulpit, but would cause no significant harm for the
“Black Knight of Hungary”—the man who kept the continent safe from legions of invading Turks. Legally, the state prosecutor would not even bring an action against a noble on behalf of a low-born person; the “interested party” had to bring his own action against the noble—highly unlikely given the obvious risks.

  For example, about that same time in 1588, a neighboring noble, Mihály Cseszeky, was actually kidnapping and ransoming not only Turkish prisoners but also his own peasantry in an attempt to raise money for the care and maintenance of his castle at Várpalota. Cseszeky, a lesser noble under the jurisdiction of Ferenc Nádasdy, was himself a royal hero, having fought off thousands of Turks with a few hundred Hungarian troops. He was given Castle Várpalota as a royal gift, but the Crown did not provide enough funding for its maintenance. Eventually, Cseszeky took matters into his own hands to secure the needed financing.

  Although oppressed, the locals were unable to seek any sort of assistance from governmental authorities. As discussed, their only recourse was to bring an action against the noble himself. They finally petitioned Ferenc Nádasdy, Cseszeky’s overlord, for relief from the constant raids and disappearance of loved ones. For Nadasdy, the matter was complicated: Mihály Cseszeky’s relatives had fought with his father, Tamás, against the Turks, and Ferenc himself had, on more than one occasion, held prisoners for ransom in an effort to raise money. History does not record any significant punishment levied against Cseszeky; again, the peasantry had little standing to complain against the nobility—no matter what was done to them.

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  THE DEATH OF FERENC NÁDASDY

  In March of 1601, when Count Nádasdy was in Bratislava, history records that he was hit by an illness that caused such severe pain in his legs that he was unable to stand. After a few weeks, he recovered and was able to return to public duty. From his letters, though, the condition appeared irreversible.

  Meanwhile, Ferenc continued to loan the cash-strapped Crown and Hapsburgs money, despite their inability to repay him. His loyalty to them never waivered, either. In August of 1602, although ailing, he joined forces with Count György Thurzó to lead a new campaign against the Turks and shore up Hungarian garrisons in towns along the Danube. The two men, who already knew each other, became well acquainted during this time—rather ironic, since György Thurzó would later arrest Erzsébet and administer her trials.

  In the year 1603, Ferenc fell gravely ill again, this time permanently disabled, and began to prepare his family and friends for the possibility of death. Ferenc Nádasdy was closest of all to his military comrade, Ferenc Batthyányi. As mentioned, the Nádasdy and Battyányi familes co-owned a palatial manor home in Vienna and, from correspondence, we know that Erzsébet kept in touch with them even after her husband's death.

  Ferenc Nádasdy was not naïve: he knew what life for his widowed wife would likely become. In that time, a widow’s fate depended on her protectors. In the case of Erzsébet, because of her influential family, she was entitled to live comfortably on the estates, cared for by her servants. However, it was nearly certain that she would become the target of attacks aimed at her massive fortune—whether from predatory nobles, disloyal staff, the Crown, the Church, or the Ottoman Turks.

  The ailing Nádasdy entrusted two letters to messengers. The first went to Ferenc Batthyányi, asking him to protect his wife and children. The Nádasdy estates were already under constant threat from the Turks, the Crown appeared to have no intention of repaying its massive debts, and he feared for the worst for his family. We do know from correspondence that Erzsébet would later write to Batthyáni, and that he advised and helped her with a few economic and military issues.

  The second letter went to György Thurzó.

  On January 3, 1604, the day before he died, Ferenc wrote to Thurzó: “God has visited upon me this disease,” and that, “should the unthinkable happen” and he not survive, “I formally entrust my heirs and widow under your generous protection.”

  The letter could have been an aristocratic convention between friends and a sign of the confidential relationship they shared when they fought together against the Turks. On the other hand, it could also have been a tactical maneuver to ensure that Thurzó, already one of the most powerful men in the kingdom, would feel shame if he in any way planned to discredit the family or commandeer its possessions.

  Nádasdy was already too ill to actually sign it. He died in his bedroom at Sárvár on January 4th, shortly after the letter was sent. The funeral for Ferenc Nádasdy was typical of a national war hero: lavish, military-style, and filled with pomp. His open casket was surrounded by four large candles that burned throughout the night vigil before his burial. At seven a.m. the following morning, the attendant funeral service, pageant and procession began. Pastor István Magyari who, only two years prior had castigated both the count and his wife from the pulpit for cruelty and oppressing their subjects, now recalled in a stirring eulogy how Lord Nádasdy distributed food to the poor and provided scholarships for students, how he always ate and drank sparingly, and kept all indulgences in check. In fact, the more exalted his position, the pastor declared, the more modest he became, since pride had never been a part of his nature.

  Ferenc had clearly reconciled with Pastor István Magyari before his death. If the aging pastor had any questions concerning Count’s Nádasdy’s own morality, one would have never known it from the words he delivered at the service:

  His Grace fought the good fight against Satan, the world, temptations of the flesh, and sin. He carried forth the word of God with forethought and love. Happily is he now gone to the Lord’s table. He did not spend his leisure time in idleness but was dedicated to the reading of the Bible. He was like a good father to his subjects. He distributed food and clothing to the poor and supported the young in their studies. He ate and drank sparingly and never overburdened his heart with excess. He ate only once on Saturdays and on all days before holidays, and then only sparingly. The more recognized and great he became, rising in the eyes of his king and countrymen, the more ever so humbly he conducted himself, because any such pretensions were far removed from his inner character.

  Apparently, Magyari’s loyalty—and hatred for Jesuit Archbishop, Péter Pázmány—continued even after Lord Nádasdy’s death. As mentioned, when Pázmány began to stir up theological arguments as to why the deceased war hero would not be going to heaven, Magyari quickly fired back with a series of ideological rebuttals.

  Two weeks after his death, Ferenc’ cousin, Orsolya Nádasdy Pethö, sent a letter to Erzsébet Báthory. Mindful of Count Nádasdy’s death, as well as the recent betrothal of Erzsébet’s daughter, Anna, to Nicolaus Zrínyi, Orsolya wrote the following:

  My beloved, gracious Lady, sweet sister,...

  My dear, sweet Lady, Your Grace has completely forgotten me; perhaps you are angry with me that, my dear sweet Lady, I could not attend the funeral of my beloved Lord (Ferenc), who, acting in place of a father, was my protector! Had only God not allowed me to live to this day! I want to apologize to you, my beloved Lady, because when I received the letter from Your Grace, and I saw that the seal was black, I dropped it, my beloved Lady. I was sick for two weeks, I could not eat a bite. When I asked, when was he buried and wanted to send someone because I was very weak, I was told that it was over. The letter was sent too late.

  My beloved mistress, since then I have suffered much, because hostile Pethő relatives anger me constantly. They complain: my star has fallen! Earlier, they threw my son before the penniless Lords. Oh, my dear, sweet Lady, for me he died, I am an orphan, I have no support, no hope left on this earth! No day goes by without me mourning for him. Indeed, my beloved Lady, all my sons and my whole family are dead! Now that I know I would not find them anymore, I no longer wish to live there.

  I hear that my Gracious God has brought great happiness to my beloved niece (Anna). Thank God, may she be blessed with a long life and much luck. My beloved Lady, to whom I write this, I have tearfully thanked God
for you. As God is my witness, even though it hurt my Maria, I have not had greater joy to know of the happiness that my niece now enjoys. God grant that my dear brother-in-law (Nicholas Zrínyi) will be a similar protector to me and my niece, like her father (Ferenc) was….

  My beloved Lady, now I bring you my services: I beg you, command and order me about. Do not treat me like a stranger or as the other relatives--only as a guest, but let me serve and help you. I will gladly go a month earlier, because I am obligated, until my death, to serve your children, because of their father, who for me in joy and sorrow was like a father. Believe me, Your Grace, that I no longer wish as much good for my own children as I do for your dear children. Consider me as such a relative, forget me not, your orphaned relative, command me and let me serve you.

  About my condition, I can write you that my relatives cause me all sorts of trouble. In the castle, I could not live with them, my servants were beaten; they occupied my house. God alone knows my miserable state, there is no one left to whom I could tell this that would pity me or who would give me good advice and that I could trust. My God, my beloved Lady, I have no more comforter, God took away my support and my strong confidence in this world. My wish is to see you, my beloved beautiful Lady, as long as I'm still alive. After all, etc. Written in Sztropko, according to the new (calendar) on Saint Margaret’s Day (January 18), 1604.