by Tony Thorne
Livid red and blue patches on the skin, so easily identified as bruises from beatings, can be caused by blood settling in certain parts of the body after death. It was also standard practice to tie the hands and feet of corpses, both to help in moving bodies before rigor mortis froze them in less manageable poses, and to make it impossible for the dead to escape from their coffins and wander abroad. This combination of practicality and superstition extended in some cases to piercing the bodies so that a build-up of gases would not swell and perhaps burst the coffin; at the same time the post-mortem wounding would ensure that the deceased was perfectly dead.
The widow Hernath’s statement was never referred to at the trial of Elisabeth’s servants, or in the later phases of the investigation.
In the meantime, Thurzó had convened the Diet, not in Bratislava but in Bocskai’s old fiefdom of Kosice, the centre of the mutinous eastern counties. He intended to coerce the nobles and the representatives of the other powers in the Kingdom to give a unanimous declaration of opposition to Gábor Báthory.
On 25 August, Thurzó travelled to Vienna, where he closeted himself with his spies and his Austrian advisers to plan the next stage in his campaign to subvert the Transylvanian Prince.
On 3 September, Elisabeth was in residence at her castle of Németkeresztúr, where she drew up her last will and testament. The original of the will, a five-page manuscript, can still be inspected in the Hungarian National Archives in Budapest:
I, the Honourable Lady Elisabeth Báthory, the widow of the Most Honourable Lord, Francis Nádasdy, thinking of my weak health and being at an advanced age [she was fifty] ... for I wish to be free of all my duties in the material world, I order, according to this, my last will, that all of my estates, including those inherited from my husband, should be given to my son, Paul Nádasdy. However, my much loved children have not until this time decided to divide the estates among themselves, as my daughters are far from here, but I ask them that if at any time in the future they will gather together, they will find a way to divide the estates peacefully and in harmony, but until that time that my son, Paul Nádasdy, should not be disturbed in his inheritance. The estates of Kapuvár, Léka and Kanizsa should be given to one of them, these must be kept intact and undivided, on condition that if the inheritor should die, the surviving inheritors may divide them among themselves. The remaining estates, wherever in the country they be, should be divided between the three. The estate that was my wedding gift [Čachtice] should be given to my three children with each having equal rights to it.18
This was to be the public settlement, but in private Elisabeth was even more carefully specific in her instructions: she was especially concerned about the estate of Szécskeresztúr, which bordered the famous vineyards of Tokaj. The castle of Tokaj had been given to Thurzó, and in 1610 he was extending the borders of his demesne there by his usual methods. When she was arrested later, one of Elisabeth’s first concerns was to give the eastern Keresztúr lands into the hands of George and Kate Drugeth with immediate effect so that they could safeguard them from the attentions of predators and use their revenues to support Elisabeth in her captivity: ‘Those properties that I shall inherit from my family in the future should be divided equally between my children, as I bequeath them my castles and houses. The property documents will be kept together with one of my children in accordance with the law.’
The will was the recording of a decision, but it was not the end of the matter. She still had to make sure that all the land certificates, leases and records of debts were safe in the hands of her son – or rather of her son’s protector, Megyery:
My gold and other jewels from my treasury should be given to Paul Nádasdy, as I have already given to my daughters their shares of the jewels in the usual form as wedding presents. The arms and the horse furnitures should be given to Paul Nádasdy. I desire only to be allowed to keep for my lifetime my wedding dress and jewels.
This is my last will and command, which I have completed freely, being of sound mind.
The will is almost certainly written in Elisabeth’s own hand, but looks like a rough draft, rather than the will of one of the richest noblewomen in the kingdom: its format is as prescribed by the laws of the time, but its appearance is poor and simple. The list of witnesses at the end of the document is written by the same person in much larger letters and the signatures of the witnesses and their seals are on the reverse of the paper. Elisabeth’s signature is in a much less firm hand than the rest of the text, and this has led to speculation that the will was not signed at the time of writing, but was kept unsigned as insurance until much later when Elisabeth felt that her death was imminent. Some believe that the will was drawn up hurriedly in 1610 so that the witnesses (who included her court officials Deseő and Pásztory who later testified against her, and the priest Piterius, whom Zvonarić and Magyary had consulted before condemning her eight years before) could leak the contents, indicating that her property had been disposed of before her arrest (as the Royal Treasury later claimed in its letter to the King). It is known that Elisabeth, not her son, still had a part of her treasure in her possession in 1612, and we know that the final dividing up of the property between the male heirs was not completed (according to the eighteenth-century Chronicles of Čachtice) until just before her death in 1614.
It is questionable whether a hidden unsigned will would really have deterred anyone bent on grabbing part of the inheritance, in an age when property was often annexed by force and when oaths and documents could easily be falsified. (Another explanation is that she drew up the will under duress, and refused to sign it until her own wellbeing was assured – she signed it only in 1614 when she knew she was going to die: Thurzó, Zrínyi, Drugeth and Megyery needed the will to safeguard the estates, and would have produced it if the Royal Treasury had been ordered by Matthias to examine it.) Nevertheless, it seems that Elisabeth kept this copy of the will (which may of course not have been the only one) in her private casket which she took with her into captivity and which remained with her until she died. Her son Paul wrote an undated note on the document: ‘I gave this letter to Mister Megyery [his tutor and guardian] from the box which was my mother’s box for letters. Comes Paulus de Nadasd, manu propria [in my own hand].’
The will may have been a ruse to forestall the ambitions of George Thurzó, and it may have been written as a reaction to a visit from Elisabeth’s two sons-in-law who came to Németkeresztúr in September 1610, perhaps to tell her that the Palatine’s machinations against her were nearing some sort of climax and to press their own claims on the properties that were all still in her name. At the same time, there was good reason to confirm her son’s inheritance at that particular moment: the boy was now twelve years old and therefore officially of an age to take up the rulership of the county which Elisabeth had been occupying on his behalf during his minority. Her daughters were now safely married off and their dowries settled.
Although there is nothing in the provisions of the will which go against normal practice, it neatly postpones the actual carving up of the estates until some unspecified future and ensures that there will be proper negotiation between the heirs. It also frustrates any immediate ambitions on the part of the sons-in-law by securing the lion’s share in the hands of the best claimant, her young son. But once again, as so often in the case of Elisabeth Báthory, there is yet another explanation for the timing and the wording of the will. In the text itself, Elisabeth states that she is in poor health, and we know that she visited Piešt’ány spa with her daughter Anna Zrínyi just after the date on the testament. It is quite possible that the terms of the will in a first draft had been decided for some time and that Elisabeth signed it on the day indicated, in a hand shaking from rheumatics, palsy or ague, because she really did fear for her survival, but it seems even more plausible that she signed it after her arrest in a state of despair and near-collapse. Whatever the truth of it, the will seems to be, as it claims, the work of someone ‘of sound mind’.
> Meanwhile, in Bratislava Thurzó looked over the first set of depositions from witnesses, and the documents, still secret, were formally entered into the legal records.
At the beginning of October Count Zrínyi brought his wife Lady Anna to Čachtice, probably intending to leave her in her mother’s company while he joined the other lords for the Octave, the October sitting of the national Diet at Bratislava (in the event something mysteriously prevented him). Elisabeth entertained her daughter and her attendants in the manor-house while most of the household were moved out into the high castle. It was in mid-October, if there is any truth in what the witnesses later asserted, that several of the banished maidservants came close to death, either through disease, neglect or deliberate ill-treatment by Dorothy Szentes, who had been put in charge of them. After Elisabeth had taken her daughter with her to their town-house at Piešt’ány spa, where they both bathed in the thermal mudbaths, between five and eight girls died and their bodies were clumsily disposed of around the estates. Witnesses later described how parts of corpses buried at the manor were rooted out and carried about by Lord Zrínyi’s dogs, a gruesome anecdote reminiscent of the Kátai story which had been circulating three years previously. The most alarming rumours must have spread through the towns and villages of Upper Hungary, and Thurzó, who was reading through the second collection of confessions, would soon have heard of them, if not from his spies in Elisabeth’s court, then from his agents in Nové Mesto and Bytča.
Towards the end of October, Elisabeth travelled west to the castle of Sárvár, where her son was living under the supervision of Imre Megyery, and gathered together her jewels, other valuables and movable furnishings, loading them into coaches and transporting them to Čachtice before the winter roads became impassable. Renovation work was going on at Sárvár throughout the period from Francis Nádasdy’s death up to 1615, when the plaque set in the castle courtyard wall by Paul Nádasdy proclaims its completion, and this may have been the reason for the removal of Elisabeth’s treasures. It may also have been connected with the arrangements for the disposal of her wealth that were contained in the will drawn up a couple of months before. Nevertheless, it is not surprising that the most popular interpretation has been that the Countess was preparing to flee, fearing that her enemies would make their move some time early in the coming year. She would not have expected anything to happen during the midwinter festivities, and she expected to be warned, either by her agents or by a formal summons, if a trial was to be convened. It is very unlikely that she would have tried to cross into Transylvania before the early spring if she intended carrying more than the lightest baggage. The high passes and even the local roads were usually blocked by snow from December well into February.
There is another reason why Elisabeth would not have fled unless she was absolutely sure that her life was in imminent danger: her leaving the kingdom of Hungary to join the Transylvanian Prince without royal permission would have been construed as treason, allowing Thurzó and the Habsburg authorities not only to confiscate her lands, but almost certainly to condemn her to death in absentia and take steps to pauperise her heirs – in such grave circumstances the ruse of the will would have offered no protection and all her plans to safeguard her children’s futures would have been for nothing.
On 20 October, as Thurzó was about to put his seal to the collected papers of the second stage of questioning, Elisabeth wrote to him complaining of the outrageous behaviour of his servant, Tatay. In the same month Vienna received copies of letters sent by Prince Gábor to nobles in eastern Hungary, requesting them to supply him with troops to bolster his forces.
On 6 November 1610, Gábor wrote privately from Gyulafehérvár (Alba Julia, the capital of Transylvania) to Elisabeth, his aunt:
Your letter was given to me in which you ask me and my good brother [Andrew Báthory] to send you a legal certificate. For my part I shall send it at once, but our brother is not here at present. I have sent for him and as soon as he has come hither he will send to you his letter as well. Therefore, as I have said here, I have had this document taken from the convent and from our chancellery and it has been sent to you. Only ask of us and we shall help you in whatsoever you wish. With love from your family and God grant you long life and health.
He added in his own extravagant scrawl the affectionate words:
I serve you with love and with joy, your brother
Gábor Báthory19
This communication, which has never been mentioned before, nor published, is an exciting find since it proves that Elisabeth was in touch with the Prince only weeks before her arrest and that, judging by his warm and respectful salutation, their relationship was close. It would be more exciting still if the letter was firm evidence of a conspiracy among the Báthorys. Gábor’s message to his aunt alluded to an important document, the procator – a legal certificate or deed which she required – but he did not specify its purpose. Nevertheless, we can be sure that if she had wanted a safe pass to allow her to escape to her nephew’s court, or a certificate protecting her from his invading troops like the one which Bocskai had given her, Gábor would not have sent word through normal channels and his secret note, once read, would have been destroyed. The fact that the signature of his younger brother Andrew Báthory was also necessary means that this was almost certainly a question of property rights and ownership, rather than part of a political plot. Elisabeth, resolute and efficient as always, was putting her affairs in order following the broadcasting of the will.
On 12 November 1610 Nicholas Zrínyi wrote to the Palatine.20 He said that he had only been able to get as far as the place called Veb, and he had not after all been able to attend the Octave. It is apparent that a parallel secret message was being sent with a trusted servant, but the pretext for the official letter is to mention his own poor health – his reason for not meeting with Thurzó, who must have summoned him. Zrínyi states in his note that now that he has recovered he intends to comply with the Palatine’s personal instructions, and promises to set out on the following Saturday to be in Bratislava to offer his humble service to his ‘uncle’ the Palatine there. It seems that Zrínyi had been hanging back, reluctant to speak face to face with Thurzó and pleading ill health as an excuse. But Thurzó was insistent.
Count Nicholas Zrínyi at thirty was the oldest male member of Elisabeth Báthory’s family circle and the scion of one of the few dynasties of a rank equal to her own. His grandfather of the same name had been a hero of the Turkish wars whose renown eclipsed even that of Francis Nádasdy and who is still remembered today as the tragic hero of the siege of Szigetvár. This Nicholas was possessed of lands, wealth and political influence in abundance, as well as the inherited glory of his ancestor, but he was as yet untried in war and still undecided in his private political allegiances. The young Zrínyi had sided with Bocskai during the latter’s insurrection and, although his own power-base was far from Transylvania, may have secretly sympathised with the pro-Báthory faction, but if he wanted to protect his material prospects and ensure that his head remained on his shoulders he had little choice but publicly to protest his loyalty to Thurzó, his relative by marriage (Thurzó’s mother was his aunt) and to the King.
A demonstration of loyalty in the form of an oath of allegiance was precisely what Thurzó was demanding on behalf of his master from each of the one hundred most powerful families in Hungary, and it was to sign a letter incorporating this oath that Zrínyi had been summoned to Bratislava. There were rumours in Vienna that Zrínyi was entertaining treasonous thoughts, and that his links with the Prince of Transylvania were closer than they should have been. On 11 December, Gábor Báthory’s troops took the Saxon town of Szeben, which had appealed to the Habsburgs for help, and on 16 December Zrínyi appeared before a specially convened court to clear himself of slurs against his character by persons unknown (the papers giving details of the affair have not survived).21 Having dealt with this difficulty, which may have been part of a campaign of pressu
re by the pro-Habsburg group, Zrínyi addressed a letter the following day to Thurzó’s agent, Egyed Nagy.22
The text – the words were dictated to a scribe (Zrínyi’s own handwriting, in which the closing words and signature appear, is clumsy and ill-formed, suggesting that he was barely literate) – confirms the machinations that were taking place just before the denouement of Elisabeth’s drama, and proves, as does Elisabeth Czobor’s letter, that Thurzó’s stumbling upon the murderess ‘in action’ was carefully pre-planned:
I have sent my most trustworthy servant with my letter to Čachtice as your lordship required me to do, according to our agreement. I desire a peaceful conclusion to that affair, and I hope that Lady Nádasdy will remain in that place in peace, and that the property will remain intact – that even the Fiscus [the Royal Treasury] will not confiscate the estates, but most importantly for the whole family that the gravest punishment, the loss of the fortune and the losing of one’s head shall not be applied. We have both been in agreement that the case should be resolved in this way; my confidential servant has been sent to Čachtice for this purpose. In truth your lordship must remember our agreement; when we spoke face to face at that time we came to no agreement concerning the estates, and now you wish to divide those estates, but I am not prepared for that to be done, it is too hasty. I do not know your lordship’s mind in this matter, therefore I may not help you, I must even gainsay you in this proposal. I am myself related to the family, therefore I want my portion, both on this side and on the far side of the Danube, too. I know full well that your lordship is my benefactor and a loving brother to me, what is more, in my soul I have the hope that you will also rejoice at my advantage and most certainly would not wish my misfortune.
Zrínyi refers to a message he has sent to Čachtice on Thurzó’s instructions, and this must be part of the manoeuvring in preparation for the forthcoming arrest: one possible reason for such a message would be to refuse an invitation to join the Christmas celebrations at his mother-in-law’s home (where very possibly she was hoping to conclude some manoeuvres of her own in the company of her advisers and confidants), and to leave Thurzó a free hand in the matter of the actual attack on the mansion. There is, then, an agreement in advance of the raid that Elisabeth should be shut away to spare the family shame. The letter from Zrínyi is coolly businesslike and self-seeking, and, despite the polite conventions, it is forthright, even defiant. There is no mention at all of the Lady’s alleged crimes, no expression of horror or pious disapproval: his reference to the risk of beheading and dispossession could more easily apply to a case of high treason than to the murder of a few servants, noble or otherwise.