Infamous Lady: The True Story of Countess Erzsébet Báthory (11 page)

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
Byt
ča
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 18
^th
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).

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:

      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:

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.