Your gracious servant,
Orsolya Nádasdy
P.S. I can assure you of no other news to report, except that the Christian (i.e., Protestant) predicate was pursued. In Kosice, there is no more. His Majesty has now sent out the same article (law) to the counties, saying that those who are not Catholic will lose all of their goods. They send us however, as I hear, more and inform his Majesty, that if he does not leave us to our belief (faith), then the warden of the Assembly (the parliament probably) will no longer visit, and they will not even pay the taxes anymore. What God sends us next, I do not know.
Orsolya Nádasdy Pethö’s letter described not only her own plight as a widow but also the impending tension felt by Protestant nobles whose property was increasingly the subject of hostile Catholic interests. Her correspondence is, interestingly, a foreshadowing of a similar struggle that the newly widowed—and Protesant—Countess Báthory would herself soon face.
Meanwhile, it was customary at that time for a widow to remove herself from society and formal life for at least one year to mourn. If we have any indication of what Erzsébet truly felt for Ferenc by then—or perhaps the urgency in which she felt to maintain certain appointments—it can be summed up in the fact that only four weeks after his death, she was already devoting herself to business in Vienna. She also made a personal appearance at Court that, apparently, shocked even the Emperor. In addition, deceased nobility were typically not interred until two to three months after death; thus, the speed at which both funeral and burial had taken place, including the fact that notice of the event failed to reach even close relatives like Orsolya Nádasdy Pethö, raises something of a question.
Eight months later, in September 1604, Lady Widow Nádasdy went on a lavish shopping spree, purchasing for herself and her personal attendants an exorbitant array of clothing for a lump sum of 2,942 gold and 11 denar. Both her signature and that of the Viennese merchant, Georg Pech (György or Juraj Pechy) are present on the sales document. The amount is absolutely enormous: at that time, the annual income of a senior officer of high rank, or any doctor with a good reputation, was approximately 150 silver. The amount today would be in the millions. Like all of her many transactions, the Countess always paid early or within the month, and in cash.
Erzsébet paid all remaining obligations owed by her husband and continued to support his charitable endeavors, such as providing scholarships for students and money to support Lutheran efforts at Wittenberg. She also continued litigation with his debtors, including the Royal Treasury. She assumed control over all asset management now, as illustrated by a variety of letters in her own hand from 1604, including her signature on the annual tax bill for her various properties. Despite their previous harassment, she also protected the local clergy. One of the unfortunate consequences of the Reformation was that the properties and wages of Protestant clerics, now disenfranchised from the Catholic Church, were frequently subjected to the predatory practices of local nobility. However, on January 31, 1605, Countess Báthory issued a letter ordering the protection of the clergy’s wages and property, to be held in escrow by the bailiff and available on public record to the town and village judges and citizens, so as to answer all questions and maintain integrity. Whether she made this gesture because she wanted to or had to is not known.
From correspondence, we also learn that Erzsébet traded costly and rare jewelry with a few business partners, including the same German merchant, Pech, and that she occasionally lent out cash or goods, both to servants and nobility. The list of servants from Sárvár who owed her, whether in the form of currency or raw goods, included: Sárvár Paymaster, Benedek Zalay; Paymaster, Squire Janós Zambothny (Zamabory); Court Master Benedikt Deseö; and Castellan Benedek Bicsérdy, all of whom would later be called to testify against her.
Yet, during the same time, it is said that the monks who lived across the street from her Viennese manor were so disturbed by the screaming of tortured girls coming from her residence that they hurled their pots at the walls in anguish. The woman who spent her free time torturing servant girls in private was a complete paradox in public, providing scholarships, supporting the clergy, making helpful loans to needy staff, paying all of her bills promptly, and appearing at high-society affairs.
We cannot say exactly what triggered the escalation of torture and murder after Ferenc’ death in 1604. The couple was obviously not close by then, and Erzsébet was certainly used to running the estates by herself. By all accounts, her daily life did not change very much. She did, however, rely on certain things for her support; namely, the steady stream of income that Ferenc had provided while alive, and the military as well as social protection that his office brought to her. Although her vast properties generated great wealth, the estates were enormously expensive to operate, and the tax bill increasingly heavy. In addition, much of this wealth consisted of real estate holdings, crops, and livestock—not always quickly or easily convertible to cash. Erzsébet had come to rely on the quick cash provided when Ferenc and his troops plundered the treasuries of Turks as well as the occasional, offending European noble or merchant. When the money dried up and the protection evaporated, it appears that her mental state deteriorated just as quickly. She was vulnerable now and knew it. By this time, she was also in her mid forties and aging fast in an era when few people lived past fifty.
13
ESCALATION (1604-1610)
Sometime before the year 1605, Erzsébet Báthory surrounded herself with an intimate cohort of servants. In addition to Anna Darvolya, four others—an unusual mix of three old women and a disfigured boy—would come to serve as her chief torturers and even execution squad. The four included: a boy named János Újváry, known simply as Ficzkó; her children’s wet nurse, the elderly widow Ilona (Helena) Jó Nagy; an elderly friend of Ilona Jó, named Dorottya (Dorothea) Szentes; and an elderly washerwoman named Katalin (Katarina or Kata) Beneczky.
Ficzkó was brought into the Countess’ service, allegedly by force, some time between 1590 and 1595, likely 1593 or 1594. We are not sure exactly how old Ficzkó was; however, the trial documents, as well as letters of the period, refer to him as a “young lad.” Witnesses called him a “boy” or “kid,” and later on, when convicted in 1611 for torturing and murdering servants, his sentence would be reduced, in part, due to his “youthful age.”
During this time period, the age of majority, or adulthood, varied based on country and circumstance. For most of Europe, one could inherit property at the age of 21, considered majority. However, under Roman law, which was still being applied throughout Europe, including countries such as Hapsburg-controlled Austria, one was not considered a full “adult” for purposes of criminal conviction until the age of 25. Depending on the legal standard used during the proceedings, Ficzkó thus could not have been more than mid-twenties, and was probably younger than that. This also indicates that he was no more than eight or ten years old when first brought to Erzsébet’s court.
Some commentators believe that Erzsébet called Ficzkó by the name of “Thorko,” and that he taught her various magical spells. Given Ficzkó’s young age, however, this would have been highly unlikely. In addition, we know from Rev. Ponikenusz’ letter of January 1, 1611 that Thorko (or Torkoss) was actually a woman who lived “miles beyond Sárvár.” The name first appears in a letter dated some time around 1594, when Erzsébet supposedly wrote to Ferenc: “Thorko has taught me a lovely new one. Catch a black hen and beat it to death with a white cane. Keep the blood and smear a little of it on your enemy. If you get no chance to smear it on his body, then get one of his articles of clothing and smear the hen’s blood on it.”
Chronicles from the time indicate that Ficzkó was disfigured, something akin to the “Igor” character known today. It may be that he was sold into slavery as a child or, perhaps, had been part of a sideshow act before being taken to the Lady’s court. One wonders why the Countess accepted him into her service at all: like the other young people that came into her employ, Erzsébe
t would have paid the parents or guardians, often poor people, a sum of money in exchange for the child. Márton Deak’s wife, allegedly the person who brought him to the Countess’ court by force, might have kidnapped or taken on Ficzkó as an abandoned baby, looking for an opportunity to sell him off. It also may be that the Countess felt sorry for this unusual, disfigured child; it is unlikely that he had any sort of gainful skills at the time.
However, Ficzkó appears to have done anything that the Countess desired, and this may have been what ultimately made him so useful. He apparently also ran around the estates as he pleased, getting into fights and running off his mouth regarding the bodies hidden or people he had killed. At least one witness, a judge, confronted the Countess about him; she apparently did nothing to discipline him.
Ilona Jó Nagy, referred to as the widow of the “bald coachman,” served as the wet nurse to Erzsébet’s children, including the Nádasdy girls and Pál. She stated that she had lived in the Countess’ house since 1600. By the time of trial in 1611, the surviving Nádasdy girls, Anna and Katalin, were adults in their twenties, with Pál just reaching the teen years. Thus, Ilona Jó would have worked for the Nádasdys at Sárvár during the children’s early years. The trial documents, in fact, state that Ilona Jó was the cruelest of the accomplices and that, because of this, she was later brought from Sárvár to Csejthe by Erzsébet.
At about the time when the youngest child, Pál, was entrusted to the care of his tutor and governor, Ilona’s services were no longer needed. It may be that the Countess felt sorry for her. By then, Erzsébet was spending increasing amounts of time away from Sárvár and setting up her nearly permanent residence at Csejthe. When Ilona Jó says that she lived in the Countess’ house, she was referring to the residence at Csejthe. Since her actual service with the Nádasdy family likely spanned a period of decades, the Countess cared for her in her retirement, setting her up at Csejthe after the death of her husband and the end of her usefulness as a nanny at Sárvár.
Another accomplice, Dorottya Szentes, also known as Dorka or Dorothea, stated under oath that she had been living at the Countess’ house in Csejthe since 1605. She was summoned to the castle by Ilona Jó on the best of promises (or “beautiful words”) that she would be chosen to serve the Countess’ daughter, Mrs. Katalin Drugeth de Homonnay. This never happened. One wonders if there was some disappointment on the part of this old woman at how differently things turned out.
The final accomplice, Katalin (Katarina or Kata) Beneczky, had also been living at the Countess’ house (Csejthe) since roughly 1600. She was brought to the castle by the wife of ValentinVarga, the mother of Sárvár preacher Michael Zvonaric (Hung.: Mihály Varga Zvonarics), to be a washerwoman—somewhat ironic since preacher Zvonaric was the same man who wrote the letter of inquiry regarding possible excommunication of the Countess’ other henchman, Anna Darvolya.
Anna, Ilona Jó, Dorottya, Katalin and Ficzkó would collectively torture and kill dozens of children—almost exclusively servant girls between the ages of 10-14—in their administrative and supervisory roles over the Lady’s Staff of young seamstresses, washerwomen, and kitchen maids. Physically, little girls were easy targets for the old women and boy to harass. All of the accomplices agreed that Anna taught them how to torture and kill these children, and all agreed that Countess Báthory took a whip, cudgel, dagger, fire iron, needle, or cutting sheers to them, as well.
It is said that Countess Báthory obsessed about her age and appearance. It was said that she could sit or stand in front of a mirror for hours and, once, in a rage, went on a rampage smashing mirrors throughout the house. Those she missed were ordered either destroyed or covered (in the case of special heirlooms or property on loan). Stories of Erzsébet’s remarkable beauty still persist today. We do know that a portrait was rendered in 1585 when the Countess was 25 and that subsequent copies were made from this single original. It is thought that at least one of the copies was commissioned by her son, Pál Nádasdy. One portrait, argued to be the original by historian Raymond T. McNally, has been lost to us, unfortunately, stolen some years ago from a museum. Scholars, however, continue to debate which portrait among the remaining pieces is the original.
The fact that such a wealthy woman would have only one original portrait rendered, especially someone as supposedly vain as Countess Báthory, seems a bit odd. It may be that other works were commissioned but, given the shame later brought upon the family and contempt felt for her by those of her time, they were destroyed. It may also have been a matter of security: Ferenc Nádasdy was no friend of the Turks, and numerous images identifying his wife might not have been particularly wise at the time.
In any case, the few portraits we do have is of a young woman with dark hair pulled back, high forehead (wealthy women of the time plucked, cut and shaved away the hair line so as to make the forehead appear higher and more pronounced), wearing what appears to be a lighter-weight, summer gown (perhaps the portrait was taken around her birthday in August?).
Much has been said that Erzsébet maintained her beauty through sorcery; specifically, she drained her victims of blood so as to bathe in it and thereby restore youthfulness and vitality to her appearance. Supposedly, she discovered the remarkable properties of blood as a “skin cream” after striking a servant so hard that the girl’s blood splattered onto Erzsébet’s face. Initially, the blood baths worked well. Over time, however, as the Countess continued to age, peasant blood began to lack sufficient anti-aging properties. Only the blood of nobles would work now. Upon the advice of the local forest witch, so the story goes, Erszébet began to seek out high-born girls in order to prepare a stronger remedy.
It is interesting, however, that of all the allegations lodged by over three hundred witnesses—including the Countess’ four accomplices who confessed under torture—none specifically mentioned her bathing in the blood of victims. This is likely because the blood-bathing story actually began two hundred years after Erzsébet’s death.
In the 1720’s, a Jesuit priest named László Turóczi (Turóczy) discovered the sealed trial documents relating to the Báthory case in the attic of Bytča Castle, where the court proceedings had taken place. Intrigued, Father Turóczi used portions of this original source information for his book, Ungaria suis cum Regibus Compendio Data (“Hungary, a Dated Compendium with its Kings”), along with stories he collected from locals living in the villages surrounding Castle Csejthe.
At a time when “vampire mania” was sweeping Europe, the villagers shared their fascinating legends with him about the vampire countess who had bathed in blood to look beautiful. If true, Erzsébet must have been taking her blood treatments when Ferenc was alive and, no doubt early in the marriage when she still cared for him, for she is reputed to have said, “It is my duty to be good to my husband and make myself beautiful for him. God has shown me how to do this, so I would be unwise not to take advantage of this opportunity.”
Fr. Turóczi’s story was then adapted by Matej Bel in his encyclopedia on Hungarian history and geography, Notitia Hungariae Novae Historico Geographica. Because Matej Bel was an academic and his work considered credible, the story went unchallenged. In the latter part of the 18th century, German writer, Michael Wegener, continued to spread the blood bathing legend in his work, Beitrage zur Philosophischen Anthropologie (“Atricles on Philosophical Anthropology”). He also contributed new details about a maiden whose blood supposedly splattered on the Countess’ face, thus creating the first anti-aging treatment. Hungarians, meanwhile, continued to embellish stories about the Countess. At the time of her death, locals referred to Erzsébet Báthory as the “Infamous Lady” or “Notorious Lady.” Two hundred years later, she had become the “Vampire Lady.”
Accomplice Ilona Jó stated that Erzsébet beat and murdered the girls such that it drenched her clothes in blood; she often had to change her shirt after administering a beating. If henchman Dorottya (Dorka) Szentes beat the girls, Erzsébet stood alongside, ordering the
girls to be stripped, thrown to the ground, and lashed or beaten so hard that a person could scoop up their blood by the handful. Trial testimony seems to indicate that, although she drew a great deal of it, the Countess actually cared very little about the blood from her victims.
Specifically, if Erzsébet truly prized her victims’ blood for purposes of bathing in it, then one would assume she would have deliberately drained and collected enough of it to fill her bathtub. In fact, given the cubic volume of an ordinary tub, it would have required the blood of nearly thirty victims to do so. According to Ilona Jó, however, the Countess threw off her blood-sodden clothing, let blood wastefully sop into the beds, and even ordered it washed off the stone pavement and floors—hardly the actions of someone who desperately needed it for anti-aging baths. Blood that soaked into the beds and floor was supposedly “enough to scoop up by the handful,” but nothing says that anyone actually collected it.
The vampire legend may have begun when witnesses testified that, in her rage, the countess bit her victims. Ilona Jó stated that the Countess bit out pieces of flesh from the girls, but she also attacked them with knives and tortured them in various other ways. Dorka agreed that Erzsébet bit the girls’ faces and shoulders when she was indisposed and couldn’t actually get out of bed to beat them. We also learn how she stuck needles under their fingernails before cutting off the digits of those who tried to remove the needles. Murderous, sadistic, or psychopathic rage? Yes. Vampire? Hardly, even by the standards of vampire lore itself.
While history has embroidered portions of the Countess’ infamy, she was still, however, torturing and killing servant girls (or permitting her overseers to do so), without doubt. Ferenc’ reputation and standing could no longer see her through her misdeeds anymore. The Turks were still at large, threatening her properties, and she no longer held any strings over the Emperor, Crown, and Church without him. Worse, her debtors knew that, with Erzsébet out of the way, they would not have to repay their enormous loans. Indeed, Erzsébet is said to have referred to herself now as the “relicta Nadasdyana” (the Nádasdy relic).
Infamous Lady: The True Story of Countess Erzsébet Báthory Page 8
