Clearly this is why Ferenc sought the protection of his powerful friends, including György Thurzó, to see to his widow and children’s welfare. What actual help they provided, however, is questionable. We do know that in 1606, two years after Lord Nádasdy’s death, she wrote a letter to Thurzó who, unbeknownst to the Countess, was away in Vienna at the time. Her tone appears urgent, as if she has been trying repeatedly to contact him; the nature of the matter is, unfortunately, unknown to us:
Beckov, April 28, 1606: I would like Your Grace to look at these letters and bring to your attention that I have arrived, with the help of God, and am currently here in Beckov (Beczkó) now. I would gladly like to know from Your Grace your current whereabouts. I would like to call your attention to my situation. I urge you, my trusted benevolent Lord, to inform me as to where I can find you and how I might get there in order to speak with you and hear your opinion.
By November of that same year, she wrote again to Thurzó regarding a political/religious appointment within her lands. Thurzó apparently had a candidate in mind. The Countess, however, demonstrated in an artful and diplomatic way that she was not about to take orders from him:
Keresztur, November 11, 1606: I received the letter from Your Grace and took from that which you wrote regarding our close friend, Peter Calli, such that I might give him the Csornaer provost/diocese. I can only write that I would like to do this with great joy and, in fact, have already visited earlier with some close nobles, such as Lord Octavio, to discuss this situation, although I still have not decided the matter. However, today I will write to these trusted lords and ask them to convene with me to discuss the matter further and offer what advice they have to give. What action these gentlemen decide to take, I will follow. I will immediately give Your Grace an answer, because you are also involved in the situation, so that our close friends can say what he should be promised.
It appears that if advice or assistance were offered, the Countess probably refused much of it, anyway. She probably did not trust anyone now; everyone had an eye on her property. In any case, she typically fought her own battles.
For instance, when some of her lands were invaded by the troops of Count Banffy, she did not run to Thurzó or Batthyányi for help. Rather, she wrote a warning directly to her assailant: “So, my good sir, you have done this thing. You have occupied my small possessions because you are poor, but I do not think that we will leave you to enjoy them in peace. You will find in me a man.”
Indeed, if the Emperor raised an eye over her appearance at Court while still in mourning, even more eyes would be raised. In the coming years, the Countess made frequent trips back and forth to Court, each time demanding that the King himself repay the debts owed to her deceased husband. The Crown refused each time, although always promising to make good. Without Ferenc’ steady supply of plundered goods or ransom fees, Erzsébet’s funding started to dry up quickly, and she was becoming desperate. The Countess began selling off items in an attempt to raise cash. At first, this was not very hard to do: the manor homes and castles of the Nádasdy estates were like museums or treasure troves, filled with rare and costly items plundered from the Turks over the years.
Finding a buyer, however, was harder. The German merchant, Pech, along with a few others, dealt with the Countess when she wished to sell off her smaller, personal items. Larger items, however, required someone with significant assets. Eventually, as finances grew tighter, Erzsébet Báthory began eying her real estate. She put her castle at Theben up for sale; ironically, the Crown that could not afford to repay any of its debts managed to come up with the money to buy it from her in 1607. Later, in 1610, she would sell Beckov Castle (Blindoc, in Hungarian) for another 2,000 gulden.
We do know that the stress of being alone and vulnerable was catching up with the Countess. Although until the very end she continued to play the grande dame, behaving confidently in outward appearance, it does seem as though she suffered from a mental breakdown. Outside of the public eye, she no longer cared what happened to her, simply living for the moment, seeking to indulge herself in any way possible and lashing out with a murderous rage when worried about money or imposed upon by outsiders and obligations.
She may also have suffered from a theological crisis. We know that the Countess was very religious, even mystical perhaps, particularly in her early years. She had grown up in the company of great religious philosophers. The tenets of Calvinism and Catholicism were taught in her own home and, at Sárvár, she became even better acquainted with Lutheranism. Ferenc was raised in the Lutheran faith, as were the Nádasdy children. Erzsébet had been raised a Calvinist, however, and she likely took its theology to heart. For a Calvinist, only the “elect” would go to heaven; although the atonement was sufficient for all, it was efficient only for some. In other words, not everyone would go to heaven: unless he or she was one of the pre-ordained elect or chosen, no amount of prayer, fasting, good deeds, confession or otherwise could change that fate. In this sense, Calvinism departed radically from Catholicism. Calvinism also departed radically from Lutheranism, which taught that the atonement was sufficient, as well as efficient, for everyone; one had only to receive the gift of Christ’s atonement in order to secure a spot in heaven.
When the Lutheran pastorship at Sárvár threatened to excommunicate her servant, Anna, with veiled threats to include her as well, and later, when Cardinal Peter Pázmány postulated, rather cleverly, why her deceased Lutheran husband would not be going to heaven whether he was “saved” or not, it probably disturbed Erzsébet more than a little. She may have decided then and there that she was not one of the elect; thus, why bother engaging in any further pretenses. If she was destined for hell, then she might as well do as she pleased in life.
A year after her husband’s death, in July of 1605, Erzsébet received news of yet another death: this time, her older brother, István Báthory. She put together a retinue to make the journey back to the Ecsed family home for the funeral. A number of young girls attended her. The strain of another funeral was too much for her; according to witnesses, three of the girls were tormented so severely during the trip that they later died. The Countess ordered the bodies to be buried at Branisk, near Sirok, close to the Polish border. A girl of high lineage by the name of Zichy had also been taken to Ecsed and was later killed at Keresztúr. When the girls’ relatives came to Erzsébet to ask how the children had died, they received the usual excuse that all had passed away from cholera.
Squire Adam Szelesthey, from the village of Denesfalva, testified regarding this particular trip. He confirmed that, he, too, had heard the two daughters of Gábor Sittkey were cruelly tortured and put to death, as well as the daughter of István Szoltay. Furthermore, he had learned from a coachman named Petrus, that when the Lady traveled from Ecsed, she tortured the young daughter of a nobleman at length. When the girl died, she was buried midway on the same trip.
Witness Frantisek Török also recounted the terrible torture inflicted on the girls during the Countess’ trip to Ecsed. Elaborating on Adam Szelesthey’s account, he added that before being buried somewhere between Branyicsa and Sirok, the bodies of at least two dead girls were carried in the freight car for three days.
During this time, the tension at Sárvár began to mount uncontrollably. It appears that the Lady Widow Nádasdy, now free of her husband’s restraints, went on a killing spree. This time, however, without Ferenc’ protection, increasing pressure was put on her both by the pastorship as well as her son’s tutor, Imre Megyeri. Servants in her household at Sárvár would later testify that within a few years of Ferenc’ death, the death toll had risen to nearly 200 murdered victims.
“Only God,” one former servant declared, “knows an account of all of her crimes.”
Although she had a right to spend the remainder of her life at Sárvár, Erzsébet essentially moved out around this time. With the exception of routine visits to inspect the various properties and winter holidays spent at Sárvár, she too
k up a nearly permanent residence now at her favorite country retreat, Castle Csejthe.
As discussed, Erzsébet had authority from which to judge local disputes and disagreements personally, much of the time devoted to addressing cases of injustice, revenge, family feuds, and various misunderstandings that occurred at her court. And again, the usual court officials assisted her with this, as we know from documents provided during the investigations. Benedek Bicsérdy, in fact, may actually have been using his power and influence as Castellan at Sárvár to steal from the Countess during her prolonged absences. We know that by 1607, she was becoming increasingly removed from administrative functions. In addition, she was spending less time at Sárvár, preferring the quiet solitude of Csejthe. During this period, Bicsérdy was preparing paperwork, managing the estate, and settling disputes in her name. Documents were prepared, for instance, to resolve a three-year misunderstanding between Benedek Zalay and Michael Tulok, and signed on Erzsebet’s behalf by Bicsérdy and local juror, Adam Szelesthey.
This may shed new light on the recording of a rather unusual gift from Erzsébet and her then nine-year-old son, Pál, (who allegedy requested to sign off on the document, as well) in April of 1607 to Bicsérdy:
We, Countess Erzsébet Báthory, in connection herewith to all that it may concern, do hereby declare that the land which, until now, has had no owner and located at the village of Hegyfal, worth an amount of 100 gold, be herewith gifted to Benedek Bicsérdy in acknowledgement of his loyal service of employment to me and my illustrious warrior husband. We give this land to him and his wife Orsika Mesterhazy and their children, namely Jan Bicsérdy, Ferenc Bicsérdy, and those called Anna, Kata, and Erzsébet, and any other future lives under the following terms, so long as in the future he continues to provide us with his loyal service. Should he ever live elsewhere and we or our survivors or heirs desire to acquire the land back, in any event, we shall reimburse Benedek Bicsérdy or his heirs 100 gold.
One might wonder if the Countess ever made the gift at all and if Bicsérdy, in collusion with the child Pál’s tutor, Imre Megyeri, used the boy’s signature to line his own pockets. In her weakened state, it is possible that her other high-ranking servants, particularly those at Sárvár, were also robbing her of both cash and property. If that were the case, the later betrayal of the Countess by Bicsérdy and other Sárvár officials would not be so surprising or ironic due to any apparent ingratitude.
Meanwhile, the accounts of torturing continued. In late 1607, György Thurzó prepared to celebrate the marriage of his 22-year-old daughter, Judit, to Baron András Jakusith de Orbova. Erzsébet, of course, was invited to the lavish gala held at the magnificent new Wedding Pavilion at Bytča. On November 16th, she communicated her reply through one of her scribes:
Csejthe, November 16, 1607: Erzsébet Báthory relates that she safely reached Csejthe, last Tuesday (13th of November). If God grants her good health, she will comply with Thurzó’s wish to attend the wedding of his child. It is her pleasure to serve him.
That same day, she also sent a personal letter to Thurzó’s wife, Erzsébet Czobor. Apparently, the palatine’s wife had knowledge that the Countess sent a letter to a certain Lord Derssfy. Athough the contents or purpose of this letter are unknown, the Lady Widow Nádasdy apparently wanted to guarantee its safe passage:
Csejthe, November 16, 1607: [You have knowledge] that I wrote a letter to Lord Derssfy. I request you lovingly, as my benevolent Lady Cousin and Relative, to allow the letter to be carried to Sohl by a trusted man. In several and similar cases, may you be convinced that it would cause me joy to show you a service in return….
As was typical, the stress of another social engagement proved too much for her. The trip home with the Countess through the frigid countryside must have been unbearable for, according to a witness, one of her attending maids tried to escape along the way. This, of course, could not be tolerated. Enraging the Countess, the girl essentially sentenced herself to death. Witnesses recounted that the young servant was taken to the nearby village of Predmier where she was stripped naked in the bitter cold. She was then made to stand up to her neck in water and repeatedly doused until she froze to death.
One wonders what might have provoked such retribution. We know that the Countess tended to mete out punishments that, in a dark sort of way, fit the crime. (For example, when a servant girl was accused of stealing a coin, Erzsébet had it heated red hot and then pressed into her hand.) One can almost imagine the scene in the coach: irritable and peevish directly after the wedding, drumming her fingers angrily as she thought about how much cash had been laid out on gifts for Thurzó’s daughter, the Countess was already in a foul mood.
Meanwhile, pressed uncomfortably in the carriage amidst her attending maids and their piles of gowns, tresses, and furs, one of the newer, younger girls started to complain—she was cold, thirsty, and had to relieve herself. The Countess’ hand turned white as she gripped the handrail. The girl continued to prattle on, chatting and complaining, ignorant of how black Erzsébet’s eyes were becoming and how the more senior attendants were now looking away nervously.
Suddenly, the Countess lashed out, grabbing the stupid girl’s wrist and twisting it violently. As she cried out in pain, Erzsébet screamed at her, “So you’re cold? You’re thirsty, you miserable little whore? I’ll give you something to drink!”
As she began crying, the Countess struck her violently, pulling her by the hair and clawing at her face. The carriage, which had just started to depart, began to slow as the girl’s cries were heard by the coachmen.
“You need to piss, do you?” the Countess continued to twist her arm as the girl writhed and tried to wriggle away. Grabbing for the door, she suddenly managed to break free, nearly falling on her face as she fell from the coach.
The driver wheeled the carriage to a halt as the sobbing girl frantically collected up her garments and struggled to run from the road.
“Go after her!” Erzsébet demanded.
Her coachmen and attendants immediately jumped to the ground, giving chase. As they dragged the crying and kicking girl back, the Countess looked on, livid.
“You will pay for this,” she hissed at the girl, “I promise you that.”
The girl was bound and gagged, and Erzsébet gave brief instructions to her driver. The carriage set off again, and the moody silence that followed made the senior attendants even more nervous. Meanwhile, the younger girl, still bound and gagged, hoped briefly that the Countess’ anger had abated.
Just outside of the nearby town of Predmier, the coach slowed and then stopped near the river. The Countess turned to her young attendant.
“So you’re thirsty,” she mused, looking out the window. “You’re cold. You have to piss.”
She reached out and took the girl’s chin in her hand.
“Are you still thirsty, dear?”
Tears began to well up in the child’s eyes, and she shook her head.
“No?” Erzsébet raised on eye. “Oh, I think you are.”
We know from witness testimony that the girl was then stripped naked in the December cold and forced into the river, made to stand up to her neck in water. She was doused repeatedly with water. Taken back to Csejthe, she later died of exposure.
Some months later in 1608, Countess Báthory attended the coronation of King Mátyás. It is interesting that, less than three years before her arrest and trial, Erzsébet Báthory was still making significant public appearances. For the most part, her staff either remained discreet, or the nobility took little notice of lower class gossip (and murder). In any case, some ugly rumors apparently did not bar her from being invited to one of the most prestigious events of the year.
The trip, however, was not without its costs: during the return journey home, Erzsébet’s attendants were burned with molten iron and nearly tortured to death. According to witnesses, they were sent barely alive from Presporka to the estate at Keresztúr, where some died shortly thereafter.
14
CSEJTHE (1604-1610)
When Countess Erzsébet spent time away from Sárvár and Vienna, out of public life, one would have imagined that things quieted down. In fact, they did not. With the exception of the winter months spent at Sárvár and routine visits to the other estates such as Beckov and Keresztúr, the Countess established her new permanent residence at Csejthe. A reign of terror began for the inhabitants of the small, nearby villages such as Újhely, Verbó and Trenčín. In addition to rumors of torture and murder, talk of witchcraft began to surface, as well.
Csejthe (or Cacthice, in Slovak) lies in the Carpathians in what is today western Slovakia, near Trencsény Trenčín. In those days, the region was a part of Hungary. The castle was surrounded by a village and farmland bordered by outcrops of the Carpathian Mountains. Turks plundered the village in 1599, and in 1606, a flood washed away bridges, homes, and scarecrows in the field but, by the time Erzsébet set up her new court there, things had quieted again.
Infamous Lady: The True Story of Countess Erzsébet Báthory Page 9
