Over the years, none of the stories in our family tree have captivated me quite like the tale of Countess Erzsébet Báthory of Ecsed, Hungary—infamously known as The Blood Countess. Often portrayed as the first female vampire or serial killer, she also holds a more personal title: my paternal 9x great-grandmother. Discovering this connection was shocking, then surreal—like finding out Bram Stoker had ghostwritten a chapter in our family DNA. How could someone of such historical magnitude be part of my lineage?
As I began to unearth her story, I quickly realized it was far more complex than I’d imagined. Much of her legacy has been sensationalized over time. Sorting fact from fiction was tedious and took patience and care. Even 400 years later, the full truth remains elusive—but what I’ve uncovered is both scandalous and astonishing.
Erzsébet Báthory de Ecsed
Erzsébet Báthory was born on August 7, 1560, in the Ecsed region of Nyírbátor, Hungary, to Baron György Báthory II of Ecsed and Baroness Anna Báthory of Somlyó. Her older brother, István Báthory VIII, five years her senior, rose to become the Royal Judge of Hungary. Her maternal uncle, István Báthory of Somlyó, held titles as Grand Duke of Lithuania, Prince of Transylvania, and King of Poland. The Báthorys were a formidable and wealthy noble family in medieval Hungary, controlling vast estates in Transylvania—a region caught between the Habsburg monarchy to the north and west, and the Ottoman Empire to the south.
Despite the political turbulence surrounding her homeland, Erzsébet enjoyed a privileged and rigorous upbringing. Exceptionally intelligent, she mastered Hungarian, Slovak, German, Greek, and Latin, and studied mathematics, literature, and classical philosophy. Her refined writing style reflected the disciplined environment in which she was raised. Yet Erzsébet wasn’t content to follow the expected path for noblewomen. She insisted on being treated as an equal to her male peers, both in academics and games, and often threw dramatic fits when denied her way.
Though she showed maturity and intellectual prowess, Erzsébet also suffered from violent outbursts that escalated into migraines and seizures—conditions her father and cousin István reportedly shared. These symptoms may have indicated epilepsy, known in those days as “falling down sickness.” Later handwriting analysis suggested signs of schizophrenia and described her as having a contemptuous, tyrannical attitude. She demanded order in everything.
While Erzsébet’s early life was shaped by privilege and intellect, her future husband Ferenc Nádasdy was being groomed for a very different path. When Erzsébet was just 11 years old, her mother, Anna, arranged her engagement to a 15-year-old nobleman named Ferenc Nádasdy. Ferenc’s mother, Orsolya Nadasdy, orchestrated the match to secure her son’s future influence by aligning with the prestigious Báthory name. Although the Nádasdy family lacked royal or clerical ties, they held immense wealth—especially in western Hungary—and the union promised to elevate their standing. After the marriage, Ferenc even adopted Erzsébet’s surname, a rare move that underscored the power and prestige of her lineage.
Ferenc was the only child of Baron Tamás Nádasdy of Nádasd and Baroness Orsolya Kanizsay of Kanizsa. His father, known as “The Great Palatine,” was a prominent Hungarian nobleman, landowner, and statesman. Orsolya, the last heir to the vast Kanizsay fortune, married Tamás when she was just 12—he nearly 40.
From an early age, Ferenc trained for military life and loved playing “soldier.” Concerned that Orsolya spoiled him, Tamás insisted that Ferenc be raised with discipline. He famously declared that his son must never have “soft eyes” and instructed Orsolya to place him under the care of someone who would discipline him firmly when needed.
Ferenc studied under some of the finest minds in Savár. After Tamás died when Ferenc was seven, he moved to Vienna for further education and formal military training. Orsolya noted that while Ferenc “was no scholar,” he excelled as an athlete and warrior and was well-liked among his peers.
After Erzsébet’s parents passed away during the engagement period, she moved into the Nádasdy manor in Savár. There, Orsolya began preparing her to become a noblewoman of high station—teaching her how to eat, dress, walk, and speak with grace and poise. But these lessons were short-lived. Orsolya died soon after the engagement was formally announced. Ferenc remained in Vienna under the care of educators and extended family, while Erzsébet came under the watchful guidance of her paternal uncle, István Báthory.
Marriage, Power, and Decline
On May 8, 1575, Ferenc Nádasdy, age 20, married 14-year-old Erzsébet Báthory in a ceremony fit for royalty. The celebration lasted four days and welcomed over 4,500 guests, including the Holy Roman Emperor, Maximilian II. As a wedding gift, Ferenc presented Erzsébet with Castle Csejte near present-day Slovakia, along with 17 surrounding villages. Their union merged two vast inheritances—thousands of acres spread across multiple counties, dozens of towns, and more than 20 castles spanning modern-day Hungary, Slovakia, Austria, Romania, and the Czech Republic. Together, they wielded more wealth than the King of Hungary.
Both Ferenc and Erzsébet earned reputations as harsh taskmasters. Ferenc’s ferocity on the battlefield earned him the nickname The Black Knight. According to legend, he taught Erzsébet some of his preferred methods for punishing servants—techniques she would later adopt in the acts of abuse and torture that led to her infamous downfall.
Although Ferenc spent much of their marriage away on military campaigns, the couple had five children. Their three eldest daughters—Anna, Orsolya, and Katalin—married local noblemen, further expanding the Báthory family’s influence. Their first son, András, died at the age of seven, but their second son, Pál, survived and carried on the Báthory name. Pál rose to several high-ranking positions, including county governor, royal counselor, chief marshal, and royal chamberlain.
At the time of Erzsébet’s death, Pál pledged allegiance to the Habsburgs. Despite his titles and lineage, he lacked his mother’s aptitude for managing the family’s wealth. He relinquished most of his inheritance to his brother-in-law and largely avoided financial responsibilities.
In March of 1601, while stationed in Bratislava, Count Ferenc Nádasdy was struck by a mysterious illness that caused excruciating pain in his legs, leaving him unable to stand. Though he recovered after several weeks and resumed his duties, the damage appeared permanent. Despite his declining health, Ferenc continued to lend money to the Crown and the Habsburgs—even as it became clear they had no intention of repaying him.
By 1603, his condition worsened. This time, the illness left him permanently disabled. Aware that his death might be near, Ferenc began preparing for the inevitable. His greatest concern was for Erzsébet. He feared that her status and their immense wealth would make her a target once he was gone. To safeguard his family, he turned to his closest confidant, Count Ferenc Batthyány, asking him to guide and protect Erzsébet and their children after his passing.
The Nádasdy estates faced constant threats from the encroaching Turks, and the Crown’s mounting debts only added to the uncertainty. Ferenc also reached out to György Thurzó—a longtime ally of the Báthory family and soon-to-be Palatine of Hungary—entrusting him with the care and protection of his wife and children.
On January 4, 1604, Ferenc Nádasdy died in his bedroom at the family estate in Savár.
Just over a month later, a different side of Erzsébet began to emerge. With Ferenc gone, she stood alone at the helm of a vast and vulnerable empire, determined to uphold her family’s legacy amid growing threats and growing pressure.
Politics, War, Rumors, and Death
Shortly before Ferenc’s death, a noble uprising against the Habsburgs and the Hungarian King—Holy Roman Emperor Rudolf II—placed many Báthory-Nádasdy estates in Transylvania directly in the line of fire. Rebels looted and burned manor homes, castles, villages, and farmland. Protestant landowners faced false accusations of treason, swift executions, and the confiscation of their lands by the Habsburgs. Both Count Ferenc Batthyány and György Thurzó worked to secure protection for Erzsébet’s family, but the war quickly spread across the Austrian and Hungarian countryside.
In late July 1605, Erzsébet received word that her brother István had died. She traveled to the Báthory home in Ecsed, but the journey—coming just a year after her husband’s death and amid the chaos of war—seemed to push her to a breaking point. During the trip, three of her attendants suffered such severe torment that they died. Erzsébet ordered their bodies buried along the way. Another servant girl survived the journey but died shortly after arriving. When their families asked what had happened, they were told the girls had succumbed to cholera.
In November 1607, she attended the wedding of György Thurzó’s daughter. On the return trip, the stress of the event appeared to overwhelm her. When one of her younger servants began to complain, Erzsébet—already in a foul mood—grabbed the girl’s wrist and twisted it violently. As the girl cried out, Erzsébet screamed:
“So, you’re cold? You’re thirsty, you miserable little whore? I’ll give you something to drink!”
She struck the girl, pulled her by the hair, and clawed at her face.
The coachmen heard the screams and stopped the carriage. The girl leapt from the door and ran, sobbing down the road.
“Go after her!” Erzsébet ordered.
The coachmen dragged the girl back, kicking and crying.
“You will pay for this,” she hissed. “I promise you that.”
Bound and gagged, the girl sat trembling as the carriage rolled on. Nearing a river, Erzsébet turned to her.
“So you’re thirsty?” The girl shook her head, tears streaming down her face.
“Oh, but I think you are.”
She stripped the girl naked in the December cold and forced her to stand in the river up to her neck, repeatedly dousing her with water. The girl died of exposure shortly after they returned to Castle Csejte.
The Pattern Emerges
In the three years leading up to her arrest, Erzsébet continued to make public appearances typical of nobility. But a pattern emerged: wherever she went, reports of torture and murder followed. The more uncomfortable the visit or social engagement, the more brutal the aftermath for her victims.
She enlisted five accomplices in her crimes:
- Anna Darvulia
- János Ficzko (known simply as Ficzko)
- Ilona Jó Nagy
- Dorottya Szentes
- Katalin Beneczky
Anna Darvulia reportedly taught the others how to torture and kill. Testimonies later confirmed that Countess Báthory herself wielded whips, cudgels, daggers, fire irons, needles, and shears. If the girls tried to remove needles placed under their fingernails, Erzsébet ordered their fingers cut off.
Most of the victims were servant girls between the ages of 10 and 14. Many had sought employment with the Countess, believing that serving nobility was an honorable and desirable position. But as rumors of torture, murder, and witchcraft spread through nearby villages, families began hiding their daughters to protect them from being taken.
Crimes and Capture
As time passed, Erzsébet’s accomplices struggled to find young girls for her increasingly brutal activities. Ficzko traveled as far as Vienna in search of victims. But as Erzsébet’s bloodlust grew, she began to grow careless.
In 1609, she opened an academy of etiquette—a finishing school for high-born young women—called a Gynaecaeum (Latin for “Women’s Residence”). The academy brought in much-needed funding and, more disturbingly, a fresh supply of young maidens. Rumors of torture and murder had not yet reached the aristocracy, and Erzsébet’s noble status encouraged families to send their daughters for instruction in the social graces.
Behind closed doors, Erzsébet seemed to abandon any concern for consequences, indulging herself without restraint. How could she reconcile her actions with her professed Calvinist faith? According to Calvinist doctrine, only the “elect” were destined for heaven. If one was not among the preordained, no amount of prayer, fasting, or good deeds could alter that fate. Perhaps Erzsébet believed she was not among the elect—and if hell awaited her, she might as well do as she pleased.
Legends claim Erzsébet became obsessed with youth and beauty, bathing in the blood of her victims to preserve her appearance. In truth, these allegations surfaced more than two centuries after her death, when Jesuit priest László Turóczi published a book based on the investigation and trial depositions. He likely took creative liberties, as court records contain no mention of blood rituals or bathing. Erzsébet was vain, yes—but the myth of virgin blood as a beauty treatment is unfounded.
As the number of victims grew, the local priest, 90-year-old Rev. András Barosius, grew alarmed by Erzsébet’s frequent and unusual burial requests. When he questioned her, she snapped, “Do not ask how they died. Just bury them!” The clergy began to resist, refusing proper burials. Rev. Barosius started documenting the deaths. One entry noted that he buried nine virgins in a single night, all of whom had died under mysterious circumstances.
With the church increasingly unwilling to dispose of the bodies, Erzsébet’s accomplices resorted to secret nighttime burials—sometimes in cemeteries, but also in gardens, drainage ditches, and coal bins. As her servants grew increasingly careless, the disposal of bodies became reckless. Villagers discovered corpses stacked beneath beds, hidden in storage rooms, buried under floorboards in Savár, dumped in canals, or buried in gardens—only to be dragged out by dogs. On one occasion, four bodies were thrown over the walls of Castle Csejte in hopes that wolves would consume them. Instead, villagers found them.
As rumors spread and witnesses stepped forward with specific allegations of torture and murder—this time involving young girls from noble families—both Palatine György Thurzó and the King’s Court took notice. The King finally had the justification he needed to launch a criminal investigation.
In February 1610, under direct orders from the King, Palatine György Thurzó launched an investigation into Countess Erzsébet Báthory’s alleged crimes. He appointed two notaries to gather witness statements and depositions in preparation for a formal trial.
Erzsébet likely learned of the inquiry and responded by drafting her Last Will and Testament, declaring that her assets be divided equally among her three surviving children—Pál, Anna, and Kata. This strategic move ensured that her wealth would pass directly to her heirs, shielding it from confiscation by the Crown or opportunistic nobles should she be executed.
By the fall of 1610, the notaries completed their reports and submitted them to the Crown. The King, impatient to resolve the matter and eager to seize Erzsébet’s fortune to cancel his debts, pressed for swift action.
Shortly before Christmas, Count Thurzó met with Erzsébet in person to confront her about the mounting accusations—particularly the disturbing burial records kept by Pastor András Barosius. Erzsébet, composed and dignified, dismissed the claims as nonsense. She described the elderly pastor as delusional and insisted the girls had died from an epidemic, buried quickly to prevent public panic. Her performance delayed her arrest, but the strain triggered another violent outburst—one that claimed even more lives.
Soon after Thurzó’s visit, the King issued a direct order to apprehend Erzsébet. On December 29, 1610, Count Thurzó, accompanied by Erzsébet’s two sons-in-law and an armed escort, arrived at Castle Csejte to arrest her and her accomplices.
In a letter written by Thurzó, he described how his men entered the manor and found dead and dying girls scattered throughout—beaten, flogged, burned, and stabbed. Within hours, they uncovered even more victims hidden within the castle.
Erzsébet stood silently as the men discovered a dead girl. According to Castle Provisor Michael Herwoyth, they placed a coat over the body and loaded it onto a cart “before the eyes of even this Lady Widow.” After removing Erzsébet, the men continued their search. Herwoyth reported “cruel injuries” to the victims’ cheeks, shoulder blades, and hands, including large wounds and severe burns. He claimed their flesh had been torn out with pliers.
Witness Martin Vychko also saw a dead girl lying in a box, killed by brutal blows, and placed into a cart in Erzsébet’s presence. He found another girl still alive, her back gouged and her right arm permanently mangled. A doctor in Újhely later treated her, and she stated that Lady Widow Nádasdy herself had destroyed her arm and hand.
Nobleman András Pryderowyth testified similarly, noting slash marks on the body of the girl taken out on the cart and shackle marks on her neck. Another witness claimed she had been strangled execution-style. One girl’s wounds were so deep, Pryderowyth said, “one could easily stick a fist through them.” He also found an older woman, still alive, with her feet bound. After freeing her, she explained that Erzsébet had tied her up because she refused to surrender her daughter.
Erzsébet returned to her manor house that night while the men continued searching and clearing the castle. She issued a statement denying all wrongdoing, claiming her servants acted independently.
Authorities detained four of her accomplices—three older women and Ficzkó—overnight, holding the women in town and Ficzkó within the castle. The next morning, they transported them in chains to Bytča for formal proceedings.
On December 30, 1610, Lady Widow Nádasdy was taken back to Castle Csejte and formally imprisoned. Her accomplices, now held in Bytča Castle’s prison, endured torture to extract confessions before the trials began.
At the time, authorities routinely used torture to obtain testimony from the accused. Beginning in the Middle Ages, torture accompanied cases involving religious matters. While early Roman law presumed innocence, the Church reversed this stance during the Crusades and later the Inquisition. In the centuries that followed, civil courts adopted similar practices: guilt was presumed, and innocence had to be proven.
Trial and Legacy
Two separate proceedings marked the trial of Lady Erzsébet Báthory. The first, held on January 2, 1611, focused on the four servants apprehended at Castle Csejte, interrogating them for their own criminal misconduct. The second, convened just days later on January 7, involved a ceremonial panel of 18 judges and 13 sworn witnesses. Recorded in Latin, the trial began with readings of the accomplices’ confessions, followed by eyewitness testimonies from those present during the Csejte raid.
During their service, the four defendants estimated the number of murdered girls: Ficzkó claimed 37; Ilona Jó guessed 51 or more; Dorka said 36; and Katalin placed the number at 50. The final conviction totaled 80 counts of murder.
After the testimonies concluded, the tribunal publicly read the sentences and carried them out immediately. The document, signed and sealed by the 18 magistrates, was delivered to “His Excellency, the Palatine” on January 7, 1611.
The tribunal declared:
“Ilona and Dorottya, as primary participants in these atrocities
against Christian blood, shall have the fingers of both hands torn out by the
executioner, and then be executed and burned.
Janós Ficzkó, due to his age and lesser crimes, shall be beheaded, his body
placed on the pyre and burned with the others.
Katalin, lacking sufficient evidence beyond Ficzkó’s testimony, shall be
returned to the dungeon until further proof emerges.”
That same day, the three condemned were led to the place of execution as a crowd gathered. A scaffold was erected outside Castle Csejte to signal that justice had been served. Throughout the proceedings, Erzsébet was never allowed to speak in her own defense, nor was anyone permitted to testify on her behalf.
Securing Erzsébet’s conviction allowed the King to cancel his massive debt to her and potentially claim a portion of her lands. Count Thurzó, however, worked diligently to prevent both the Crown and the Church from seizing her property. He ensured that Erzsébet would not be executed but instead confined to Castle Csejte for the remainder of her life.
When King Mátyás demanded that Erzsébet be brought in for interrogation, Thurzó refused. He wrote:
“As long as I am Lord Palatine in Hungary, this will not come to pass. The family that has won such high honors on the battlefield shall not be disgraced in the eyes of the nation by the murky shadow of this bestial female. In the interest of future generations of the Nádasdys, everything is to be done in secret. If a court were to try her, all of Hungary would learn of her murders, and it would contravene our laws to spare her life. However, having seen her crimes with my own eyes, I have abandoned my plan to place her in a convent.”
During the investigation and trial, Erzsébet made veiled threats against the Church and Count Thurzó. Eventually, Thurzó lost his patience. In a final meeting with Erzsébet and her relatives, he pronounced her sentence:
“You, Erzsébet, are like a wild animal. You are in the last months of your life. You do not deserve to breathe the air on earth or see the light of the Lord. You shall disappear from this world and shall never reappear in it again. As the shadows envelop you, may you find time to repent your bestial life. I hereby condemn you, Lady of Csejte, to lifelong imprisonment in your own castle.”
The King was furious. He had hoped Erzsébet’s execution would allow him to claim her property and erase his debt. Thurzó responded:
“I, as Chief Judge next to Your Majesty, arranged her imprisonment after careful deliberation with the common consent of her relatives and sons-in-law. The Council of Lords and sitting judge confirmed that I have taken the correct approach. Rarely do women of such high regard find themselves in such alarming circumstances that the death penalty should be imposed. What benefit would the treasury receive in this case?”
At the dawn of 1612, Thurzó’s sentence of perpetuis carceribus—life imprisonment—was confirmed by both King and Parliament. It was enforced by walling Erzsébet into the tower of her castle.
On the night of Sunday, August 21, 1614, Countess Erzsébet Báthory complained of poor circulation. “Look how cold my hands are,” she told her bodyguard. Her attendant reassured her, urging her to lie down. She placed a pillow under her legs and began to sing with a beautiful voice. That night, she died.
Echoes of the Blood Countess
Lady Erzsébet Báthory was originally buried at the church in the village of Csejte. However, due to public outcry, her body was later removed and reinterred on the castle grounds. Yet during more recent renovations, her remains were nowhere to be found. To this day, they remain lost.
Her son, Pál, married twice and fathered a daughter named Anna Nádasdy, who wed Hans Heinrich Knay around 1670. Their descendants would eventually lead to my own family line—the Cannoys.
So how much of Erzsébet’s story is truth, and how much has been spun into legend over the past four centuries? Perhaps a little of both. We may never know for certain. While some documents still exist, many have vanished—whether through the family’s desire to suppress scandal or the ravages of war. In either case, the legend endures: Erzsébet Báthory, the Blood Countess of Hungary.
Centuries have passed since Erzsébet Báthory was sealed behind the walls of Castle Csejte, yet her legend continues to haunt the pages of history. Whether remembered as a monstrous killer or a misunderstood noblewoman caught in the crossfire of politics and superstition, her story endures—twisting through folklore, literature, and even pop culture.
For me, the discovery of our shared bloodline was more than a genealogical surprise. It was a confrontation with the shadows of ancestry, a reckoning with the idea that history is never just a collection of facts—it’s a living narrative shaped by power, fear, and myth.
Erzsébet’s legacy may never be fully untangled. But in telling her story, I’ve come to understand that truth and legend often walk hand in hand. And sometimes, the most chilling tales are the ones written in our own DNA.