A Grisly Legend: A Guest Post by Shelley Puhak

Shelley Puhak examines the legend of the Blood Countess, also known as Elizabeth Bathory, a Hungarian countess who allegedly murdered hundreds of children in the late 16th century. Read on for an exclusive essay from Shelley on writing The Blood Countess.

I remember very clearly where I was when I first learned about Elizabeth Bathory. I was touring old castles with my Slovak cousin, it was twilight, and we had scrabbled uphill to yet another set of ruins. The sign at the base of the hill had a mention of Countess Bathory—this was one of her former properties. My cousin was bemused that I had no idea who Bathory was, and so she regaled me with the grisly legend of the Blood Countess, who killed hundreds of young girls and bathed in their blood.

Once you hear that legend, its pretty tough to forget. My curiosity was piqued and, from time to time, I would read up on the case. I was especially interested in the work of the Central European historians and researchers who wondered if the Countess had been framed.

I didn’t think about writing about Elizabeth Bathory, though, until much more recently. I had finished my last book, The Dark Queens, at the same time there seemed to be an explosion of internet deepfakes and celebrity smear campaigns. I was really intrigued by the parallels between the conspiracy theories I saw spreading online and a possible 400-year-old disinformation campaign. Still, when I started writing this book, I didn’t know if I’d just chosen to spend my days with a sadistic killer or an unfortunate scapegoat.

My research started with the existing evidence: correspondence between the prosecutor and the king about the case, for example, or the hundreds of depositions recorded during the investigation and the confessions of Elizabeth’s servants. I enlisted experts in this time period to help with new transcriptions and translations, and I was startled by what I then uncovered.

The rest of my research involved seeking out new evidence— documents that had previously been misfiled or only recently uncovered. I worked with the archives of four different countries: Austria, Hungary, Romania, and Slovakia (which tells you a bit about just how influential Elizabeth Bathory’s family once was!). There is such a thrill in viewing a handwritten deposition on parchment so old and fragile that it has to be sandwiched between rice paper, or encountering the ink blotches and crossed-out words on documents Elizabeth wrote and signed herself.

I loved all of the personal letters from this era, with their rambling postscripts and handmade envelopes featuring elaborate addresses and red wax seals. They discussed everything from petty gossip to heart-rending grief and detailed both high-stakes court intrigue and banal complaints about travel delays. A special treat was a letter to Elizabeth from her nine-year-old son, his “homework” done in a careful, painstaking hand. They were all tangible reminders that, while dress styles and turns of phrase may change, human nature never does. The case of Elizabeth Bathory still has plenty to teach us about how, and why, monsters get made.