Elizabeth Báthory: Truth, Legend, and Power

Erzsébet Báthory
The Birth of a Noble Heiress

On a warm August morning in 1560, inside the towering walls of Ecsed Castle, a child was born into privilege and power. Her name was Erzsébet Báthory, heir to one of Hungary’s most influential aristocratic families, and my 9x great grandmother. Her father, Baron György Báthory of Ecsed, held great influence and wealth, while her mother, Baroness Anna Báthory of Somlyó, could trace her lineage to royalty. Erzsébet was surrounded by nobility—her great-uncle, Stephen Báthory, would one day rule as King of Poland. From birth, her life was destined for greatness.

Erzsébet was raised in the traditions of Calvinist Protestantism practiced in Transylvania at the time, receiving an education far beyond what most women of her time could dream of. But privilege did not shield her from hardship. As a child, she suffered from violent migraines, mood swings, and seizures—symptoms that may have stemmed from epilepsy, known then as "falling sickness." The treatments prescribed for her were as grim as they were ineffective: she was given the blood of a non-sufferer to drink or made to ingest a fragment of human skull during a seizure.

Power, wealth, and pain encompassed her upbringing. She grew up witnessing the harsh realities of nobility, the cruelty towards servants, the unspoken rules of aristocratic life. And as she grew, her family's ambitions grew with her.

A Scandal and a Betrothal (1573–1575)

By the time Erzsébet reached her teenage years, she was no longer just an aristocratic daughter—she was a young woman at the center of whispered scandals. At thirteen, she gave birth to a child fathered by a peasant boy, a relationship that could not be tolerated by her noble family. The infant was quietly taken away, entrusted to a local woman loyal to the Báthorys, and transported to Wallachia. The affair was erased from official records, but the shame remained.

Count Ferenc Nádasdy II 
To restore her reputation and secure her future, Erzsébet was betrothed to Count Ferenc Nádasdy II de Nádasd et Fogarasföld, a warrior with a fearsome reputation. His nickname, “The Black Knight,” came about during his brutal campaigns against the Ottoman Empire, one of the most powerful and enduring empires in history. Their marriage was no love match—it was a political arrangement, strengthening the holdings of both families and merging their influence across Transylvania and Hungary. The deal was made when Erzsébet was just ten years old, though the marriage itself did not take place for several years. With her father dead, her fate was decided by powerful aristocrats, her future sealed in ink before she had a voice in it.

A Lavish Wedding and a Lonely Life (1575)

On May 8, 1575, Erzsébet and Ferenc married in a grand celebration at Várano Palace in Slovakia. Over 4,500 guests attended, a spectacle of wealth and prestige. Ferenc presented his young bride with an extravagant wedding gift—his household at Čachtice Castle, complete with a country house and seventeen villages. But marriage did not mean companionship. While Erzsébet settled into life at Nádasdy Castle in Sárvár, Ferenc was rarely home. He was a war hero, a commander, and a fighter, spending his days battling Ottoman forces while his wife managed their estates alone.  Her solitude granted her unprecedented control over their lands. It was during these years that Erzsébet developed a reputation for power and, according to legend, cruelty.

The Rise of the Countess of Čachtice (1578–1601)

While Ferenc led Hungary’s troops into battle, Erzsébet assumed total control of their vast estates. By 1578, she was more than a noblewoman—she was a ruler in her own right, charged with defending their lands while her husband fought against the Ottomans.

Through the years, Erzsébet gave birth to five children:

  • Anna (1585)
  • Orsolya (1590)
  • Katalin (1594)
  • András (1596)
  • Pál (1598) (my 8x great-grandfather) 

Erzsébet and two of her children

Despite raising a family, Erzsébet remained deeply involved in estate management. Her authority was undisputed. She commanded servants, oversaw property affairs, and ensured the family's wealth thrived. But as her influence grew, so did the dark rumors that surrounded her name.

The Illness That Changed Everything (1601–1604)

By 1601, Ferenc Nádasdy, once a formidable warrior, was suffering from a mysterious illness. His health deteriorated rapidly, leaving him permanently disabled by 1603. No remedy could relieve his excruciating pain.

In his final months, he entrusted his wife and children to the care of György Thurzó, his trusted friend. On January 4, 1604, Ferenc died at the age of 48, leaving Erzsébet as the sole ruler of their empire. With her husband gone, Erzsébet was no longer just a wife managing estate, she was an independent, powerful widow. And with that independence came scrutiny.

The First Accusations Begin (1602–1604)

Sketch of Cachtice Castle
Shortly before Ferenc’s death, Lutheran minister István Magyari publicly accused Erzsébet of abusing, torturing, and killing young peasant girls. He brought his case to the royal court in Vienna, demanding action. Yet, for two years, the authorities did nothing.  Was it because her crimes were unfounded? Or was it because she was too wealthy, too powerful to be challenged?  Whispers of horror surrounded her name, growing louder as she took full control of the Nádasdy estates. Soon, Erzsébet found herself at the center of one of history’s most infamous investigations—one that would strip her of her power and turn her name into legend.

The Investigation and Arrest (1610)


For years, Erzsébet Báthory’s name had been whispered in fear, but in March 1610 those whispers led to action. King Matthias II of Hungary assigned György Thurzó, now Palatine of Hungary, to formally investigate the allegations against her.  Thurzó hired two notaries (in some historical accounts noted to be Erzsébet’s sons-in-law) to gather evidence against her, and soon the stories multiplied. By 1611, they collected more than 300 witness statements, including accounts from priests, nobles, servants, and relatives of those who allegedly died while under Erzsébet’s service.

Some claimed to have seen mutilated bodies, some buried in graveyards, others hidden in unmarked locations. Traces of torture—burns, wounds, bruises—were described with eerie consistency.  Then come the most chilling accusations. According to the testimonies, Erzsébet had not only abused her own servants but tortured young noblewomen, girls sent to her court to learn refinement. Some said she starved victims in cages, others claimed she burned them with red-hot irons. One survivor testified:

One of the dungeons of Cachtice Castle

"If I did something wrong, they burned me with a red-hot knife. If I failed badly, I was strung up and beaten so viciously the scars never faded."

One of the most horrific stories was that of the Countess using the blood of her victims on her skin to retain her youthful appearance. These stories were shocking but also full of uncertainty. No one saw Erzsébet commit the acts firsthand; all evidence was secondhand—witnesses repeating tales, survivors recalling pain. Was it truth or fear-driven exaggeration?

The Raid on Čachtice Castle (December 29, 1610)

Thurzó did not wait for a formal summons. On December 29, 1610, he stormed Čachtice Castle with armed men. He claimed to find Erzsébet caught in the act of torture, with one dead girl and another barely alive, trapped inside the estate. Later scholars questioned this account, suggesting the details may have been staged, or at the very least exaggerated, to ensure Erzsébet’s downfall.

Despite the allegations, Erzsébet did not stand trial like a common criminal. Her noble status protected her from execution, but not imprisonment. Her family intervened, desperate to preserve their name and holdings. At first, they proposed sending Erzsébet to a nunnery to live a quiet exile. But with rumors running wild, house arrest became the only option.  She would never leave Čachtice again.

A Life in Confinement (1611–1614)

Erzsébet Báthory never stepped foot outside Čachtice Castle again. Despite the gruesome accusations against her, she was never formally sentenced. Her noble status shielded her from execution, but her family ensured she was silenced, stripped of power, and locked away forever.

At first, reports claimed she was bricked into a small chamber, with only narrow slits left open for air and food passage. However, later records suggest she moved freely within the castle, living in house arrest rather than complete isolation. Her land was seized and her name dragged through scandal. She was still feared but she was no longer a ruler—only a prisoner.  Her family quietly took control of her vast estates, ensuring her influence faded. Whether this was punishment for real crimes or a strategic move to erase her presence, Erzsébet was no longer a threat.

The Last Night of the Blood Countess (1614)

On August 20, 1614, Erzsébet complained to her bodyguard: "My hands are cold."  He did not react. “It is nothing, mistress. Just go lie down.” She obeyed but by morning, she was dead. At 54 years old, she faded into history without trial, without reckoning—just silence.

A Burial Wrapped in Mystery

No grand funeral followed. She was interred in the churchyard of Čachtice, but her body was later moved to Ecsed, resting in the crypt of her family estate. Her true burial place remains unknown, lost to history and speculation.


A Name Carved into Legend

Over the centuries, Erzsébet’s name has become synonymous with horror. The Guinness World Records lists her as the most prolific female murderer in history, forever branded as The Blood Countess of Hungary.  But was she truly guilty? Or was she a victim of greed, political ambition, and fear? Villain or Scapegoat? King Matthias II was reportedly in debt to her, which may have played a role in her downfall. Some historians suggest that her arrest and subsequent imprisonment were politically motivated, possibly to seize her assets and erase the crown’s financial obligations. Her incredible wealth, her direct ties to Transylvanian royalty, and her loan to the Hungarian crown made her an easy target. Stripping her of her power would serve ambitious nobles well. Thurzó repeatedly stalled her trial, ensuring her fate was sealed without proper legal proceedings.

The Question of Truth

The evidence is murky.

  • 300 witness testimonies describe monstrous cruelty, yet no one saw her commit the acts firsthand.
  • Mutilated bodies and bloodstained torture devices were found in her castle, yet doubts linger on as to whether they were placed there as part of an orchestrated downfall.
  • Her servants confessed to assisting in her crimes, but only after being tortured into compliance.
  • She never denied the allegations, only demanded a legal process based on facts, a request that was never granted.

Was she truly a sadistic murderer, or was she scapegoated for her independence and wealth? Her trial never came, her case never fully examined. What remains is uncertainty, legend, and speculation.

A Legacy That Will Never Die

Erzsébet Báthory’s name echoes across time, transformed into folklore, horror, and history. Whether guilty or betrayed, she is one of the most infamous figures to ever live.

 

 

The Life and Legacy of James Hughes Callahan

 

My mother was originally from Seguin, Texas, but moved to Oregon, my father's native state, after they married. As children we grew up hearing tales about our Texas ancestors and their roles in populating the Guadalupe River Valley. Names like the Alamo, the Runaway Scrape, the Goliad Massacre, the Battle of Gonzales, and the DeWitt Colony were woven into our upbringing. It wasn’t until many decades later that I truly appreciated the significance of these events, the rich history they held, and the important roles our ancestors played in settling that region.  One such ancestor is James Callahan.

James Hughes Callahan, my third great granduncle, first heard about the Texas Revolution at a town meeting when he was 23 years old.  A powerful and emotional plea for help against the injustice and tyranny of the Mexican government stirred him deeply.  On December 20, 1835, the same day that Texans in Goliad signed a declaration of independence from Mexico, 120 volunteers—including Callahan--secured passage to Texas landing in Velasco. There they joined the Texas Army under the command of Colonel James W. Fannin.

Colonel Fannin and his troops were assigned to Fort Defiance in Goliad due to its strategic location on the San Antonio River. Built by the Spanish Army in 1749, its elevated position allowed for an excellent vantage point to spot and respond to potential threats.  It  needed repairs and reinforcement in preparation of Mexico’s advance, and Callahan’s skills as a carpenter proved instrumental in this task.

Colonel James W. Fannin
Mexico’s President and General-in-Chief, Santa Anna, was furious when the Texas colonists declared independence of the land that he felt still belonged to Mexico. He and his loyal Brigadier General, Jose de Urrea, led a force of soldiers into the heart of Texas from the south, targeting San Antonio de Bexar and Goliad--two of the most important military points in Texas. General Santa Anna aimed to attack the Alamo, a key military garrison in San Antonio,  with an army of about 2,000 men.  General Urrea with 1,400 troops targeted Fort Defiance in Goliad due to its strategic position between San Antonio and the major Texas port of Copano.

On February 23, 1836, Mexican troops under Santa Anna entered San Antonio de Bexar and surrounded the Alamo mission. The Alamo was defended by a small force of 146 Texians led by Colonel William Travis and Colonel James Bowie.  Santa Anna offered them one last chance to surrender, but Travis responded by opening fire on the Mexican forces.

The attack on the Alamo lasted 13 days.  During that time Colonel Travis sent at least three messages for help.  These messages were carried by brave men who were able to slip through the Mexican lines under the cover of darkness, by using disguises and deception, and by their familiarity with the local terrain finding less guarded paths to escape certain death.  The messengers were highly motivated, risking their lives to deliver urgent pleas for help knowing the lives of those within the Alamo depended on their success.  The most famous of these messages was addressed “To the People of Texas and All Americans in the World.” It was delivered to Austin, the provisional capital of the Texian government and was famously signed, “Victory or Death.”  Unfortunately Austin lacked the time or resources to send help to the Alamo.

The Battle of the Alamo
The second message sent by Travis went to a convention of delegates meeting at Washington-on-the-Brazos to establish the interim government of Texas, led by General Sam Houston.  But they did not send reinforcements to the Alamo. The delegates heard Colonel Travis's urgent pleas for help but were focused on drafting the Texas Declaration of Independence and establishing the new government. General Sam Houston was instrumental in persuading the delegates to continue their work rather than rush to aid the Alamo defenders

Antonio López de Santa Anna
On the second day of the siege of the Alamo, Colonel Travis sent his third and final plea to Colonel Fannin for reinforcements. Fannin lacked the manpower and resources to spare.  The Alamo fell on March 6, 1836, after a long nine bloody days of fighting.  Santa Anna ordered the bodies of the fallen Texans to be piled and burned, but he allowed the women, children, and slaves who had sought refuge in the mission to leave, hoping their accounts of what happened there would spread fear and discourage further resistance among the Texians.

With the defeat of the Alamo, General Santa Anna’s Mexican Army pressed on. In the wake of these devastating events, Sam Houston realized that his largely untrained and dispersed force could not confront the Mexican army head-on.  He ordered a strategic retreat known as the "Runaway Scrape" in which the settlers fled their homes eastward to keep ahead of Santa Anna’s advancing troops.  The Texians left quickly, taking only what they could carry and leaving their lives’ work, their homes and their dreams behind.  The chaotic exodus was fraught with hardship and despair as they stayed just ahead of the looting and burning of their homes and farms by the Mexican Army. 

General Sam Houston was concerned about General Urrea’s advancing troops, wishing to avoid another disaster like the Alamo.  He ordered Colonel Fannin to evacuate Fort Defiance and retreat to Victoria.  Only nine miles out of Goliad Fannin’s men were intercepted by General Urrea’s forces in the open prairie near Coleto Creek. Urrea’s 1,000 men engaged Fannin’s men in what became known as the Battle of Coleto.  The Texian troop fought fiercely, but after two days of close fighting they were surrounded and outnumbered.  Rather than face certain death, they surrendered.  Callahan was only one of 80 captured Texans skilled in professions such as doctors, carpenters and blacksmiths ordered to accompany General Urrea to Victoria and assist in rebuilding the city. The remaining prisoners were marched back to Goliad and held at Fort Defiance where they were assured they would be held prisoner and eventually released.

General José de Urrea
Upon receiving news of General Urrea's successful campaign, General Santa Anna sent orders to Commandant Portilla at Goliad to execute all the prisoners at Fort Defiance. General Urrea received a message from Portilla, indicating that he was preparing to fulfill Santa Anna's order. Hoping he could arrange for leniency, Urrea ordered Portilla to wait and use the prisoners to rebuild the fort while he contacted Santa Anna. But Santa Anna's reply was severe, reiterating his previous order. He sent a copy directly to Portilla in Goliad, possibly fearing disobedience from General Urrea.

On March  27, Palm Sunday, Commandant Portilla carried out orders to execute all the prisoners.  The prisoners were divided into three groups, marched out of town and shot.  Portilla sent an official account of what took place to Santa Anna but also conveyed his regret to Urrea. He expressed his distress at having witnessed such a painful affair, stating, "I feel much distressed at what has occurred here; a scene enacted in cold blood having passed before my eyes which has filled me with horror. I am sad at heart, and all I can say is that my duty as a soldier, and what I owe to my country, must be my guaranty…”

Executions at the Goliad Massacre

The massacres at Goliad and the Alamo ignited fierce rage among Americans toward General Santa Anna and Mexico.  Their reputation of cruelty and deceit spread throughout the United States and even reached Europe. Because of the Goliad massacre and the callousness of his fellow soldiers' deaths, Callahan harbored a bitter hatred of Mexico and its people for the rest of his life.

Callahan was honorably discharged from military service on June 6, 1836. He returned to Walnut Springs, later renamed Seguin, where he was awarded 640 acres of land for his service during the Texas Revolution. Having endured the horrors of battling Mexico, he was no doubt ready to lead the quieter life of a farmer.  But in 1839 he joined a group of local volunteers known as the Gonzales County Militia to protect the area against marauding Indians and outlaws. They were soon renamed The Texas Rangers.

Sarah Medisa (Day) Callahan
Sarah Medisa Day was the daughter of Johnson and Sarah (Hembree) Day, who immigrated from South Carolina to Texas with their six daughters and one son. Her father, Johnson, and her brother, James Milford, were also Texas Rangers and accompanied Callahan on many of his campaigns. In 1838, Sarah married William Alsbury, another Texas Ranger who accompanied Callahan in the fight against General Woll. However, after nearly four years of marriage Sarah filed for divorce from Alsbury in 1842 due to abandonment. Three months after the divorce, she married James Hughes Callahan.

In September 1842, just as Callahan was settling into his new life with Sarah in Seguin, he was called back to duty to stop another invasion by the Mexican Army.  General Santa Anna ordered General Adrian Woll to regain sovereignty over Texas, beginning with the capture of San Antonio. The surprise attack on the city caught the startled residents off guard, forcing a surrender. A counterattack was made by the local militia and the Texas Rangers, including Callahan.  Although initially outnumbered and unable to prevent the capture of San Antonio, they did engage Woll's forces in the Battle of Salado Creek and resulted in a Texian victory. General Woll and his troops were forced to retreat to Mexico, demonstrating the deep resolve and determination of the Texians to retain their independence.

General Adrian Woll
James and Sarah Callahan were a happy couple who raised six children: four boys and two girls. They lived on their 350-acre farm at Prairie Lea, where they raised cattle at the edge of the wilderness. As the children grew, they learned about the business of cattle raising and farming while remaining vigilant on the wild and hostile Texas frontier. Raids by Indians and outlaws were commonplace and Callahan often slept with his handgun. Callahan opened the first store in Prairie Lea in 1849 and became the postmaster in 1851.  Wagon trains bound for the gold fields of California stopped in nearby towns to obtain provisions for their westward journey, often accompanied by Texas Rangers like James Callahan to protect them.

In 1854, the Callahans built a home on the Blanco River, becoming the first white settlers in what is now Blanco County. That September, Michael Erskine appointed Callahan as the commander of a company of gunmen to guard his cattle drive from Seguin to California. The herd,  consisting of 1,054 head of cattle destined for the gold fields of California, marked the longest drive of that size ever completed. For the price of $1,500, the escort of 35 men successfully defended the drive against attacks in Comanche and Apache territory, reaching Los Angeles in November.  Callahan decided to stay in California for a time to engage in mining ventures and he returned to Texas the following spring.

In July 1855, following a series of raids by Lipan Indians that resulted in the deaths of numerous settlers, Governor E. M. Pease requested Callahan to assemble a company of Rangers to pursue the Lipans terrorizing the Hill Country. Callahan mustered 88 men and devised a plan, but the task would not be a simple one.  The Lipan Indians found protection from Mexican authorities, and relations between the United States and Mexico were already strained.

Through July, August, and September, Callahan’s company of Rangers engaged in several confrontations with Indians across the Hill Country.  They eventually crossed the Rio Grande in pursuit of a band of Lipan Apaches and encountered a Mexican delegation from Piedras Negras.  The delegation agreed to allow them into Mexico and even offered to assist in chasing down the Indians.  However, upon reaching the Rio Escondido, they encountered a large force of Lipan Apaches and Mexican troops who had been lying in wait for Callahan’s Rangers for several days.  The Rangers had been double-crossed and were outnumbered four to one.

Furious at being deceived by the Mexican delegation, Callahan led the charge into the enemy’s battle line.  What ensued was a four-hour engagement described as "one of the hardest Indian fights ever fought." By the time they retreated to Piedras Negaras they had lost four men and seven were wounded, including Callahan’s brother-in-law Henry Brazil King who had been shot in the shoulder.  The magistrate of Piedras Negaras met Callahan as they returned and offered a complete and unconditional surrender of the town, handing over his keys and authority. Most of the citizens had already fled.  However, it was another trick, a ruse designed to keep the Rangers there until the Mexican forces and Lipans could arrive to attack them again.

As the Mexicans closed in, Callahan, haunted by his memories of the Goliad Massacre, ordered his men to torch Piedras Negaras to cover their retreat. Leaving their horses and mules behind, they successfully crossed the turbulent Rio Grande.  Beaten and ragged, they made the long return to their homes in the Guadalupe Valley having failed their mission.  But their hometown celebrated their return in what they saw as a success, supporting Callahan and his Rangers.

The Lipan Apaches of Mexico continued to raid the Hill Country.  On numerous occasions, Callahan and his Rangers rode out to defend their friends and family, with Callahan continuing to serve as Captain of the Rangers in the Rio Blanco area.

On April 7, 1856, two of Callahan’s trusted friends informed him that his hired hand, Calvin Blassingame, was spreading malicious stories about him. Calvin’s father, Woodson Blassingame, lived in a cabin adjacent to Callahan’s acreage, and his 20-year-old brother, Luther Blassingame, had served as a private in the Callahan Expedition in Mexico.  Infuriated, Callahan instructed Calvin to inform his father that he wanted to meet with him to discuss the insults.

Callahan, accompanied by three of his associates, went to Woodson Blassingame’s farm to speak with him. Upon approaching the cabin, Callahan called for Woodson to come out. At that moment, gunfire erupted from within the cabin. James Callahan took a shotgun blast squarely in the chest and died instantly. One of his companions was also killed, while the other two managed to escape, though one was wounded with three shots, two of which pierced his throat. Friends later recovered Callahan’s body and brought it home, where his wife, Sarah, was consumed by grief. He was laid to rest next to their infant son in Blanco Cemetery. Heartbroken, Sarah would join them just a year later.

The Shooting of James Hughes Callahan

The Rangers’ shock soon transformed into furious rage over the murder of their beloved Captain Callahan. One week after his death, a mob of over 100 angry friends rode to the Blassingame cabin, demanding the Blassingames be handed over. Conflicting reports exist about what happened next, but it is known that the cabin was overtaken, and Calvin and Woodson Blassingame were dragged out by their heels and told to run. They refused, claiming they had done nothing wrong. Woodson’s wife, Mary, managed to escape into the woods, but the two Blassingames were shot where they stood. One account states that Woodson had more than 50 bullet holes in him.

The Blassingame's Cabin in Blanco, Texas

At least 22 indictments were issued for the murders of Woodson and Calvin Blassingame. Five defendants were acquitted, two had charges dismissed, and a third resulted in a hung jury.  No one was ever convicted of a crime.

After enduring numerous campaigns, battles, narrow escapes, and dodging hundreds of arrows and gunfire, Captain James Hughes Callahan, Texas Ranger and frontiersman, was assassinated less than a mile from his home by his next-door neighbor at the age of 41.  In 1858 the Texas Legislature named Callahan County in his honor.  During the Texas Centennial Celebration in 1931, the bodies of James, Sarah and their infant son, William, were moved from unmarked graves in Blanco County to the Texas State Cemetery in Austin.