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# The Turkish War in Transylvania

The diet now faced a dilemma. One thing was clear: György Rákóczi II was not prepared to spend his money to buy the freedom of the troops held by the Tartars. The roads were lined with women and children begging for ransom money. Although everyone held him responsible, he tried to deflect the blame. He seldom took anyone's advice, yet he now argued that the princely council had endorsed the military expedition. Hostility against the prince came close to boiling point, but no one dared to call for his removal, for he was feared more than the Porte.

The debate over the sultan's letter showed that the Rákóczis had been prescient in vastly expanding their family domains: it was pointed out time and again that since the prince was the country's wealthiest landowner, he had them in his grasp, and there was no point in making him to abdicate. Memories of Zsigmond Báthori also played a part: no one wanted to earn the fate of the five great nobles who had dared to defy the ruler's will in 1594. Finally, common sense prevailed, and the diet transmitted the letter to Rákóczi without comment. They trusted him to abdicate and thereby defuse the threat to Transylvania's independence.

{2-147.} György Rákóczi II reacted in a peculiar fashion. Instead of addressing the issue at hand, he dwelt on the past and disputed the charges in the sultan's letter, as if the diet's delegation was somehow party to the Porte's decision. The delegates begged him to save the country by abdicating; he had somewhere to go, they argued, but they had only one homeland. At that point, the interview reached a new height of absurdity. Rákóczi set nine conditions for his abdication, the first of which was that he would retain not only his own domains but all treasury estates. While the bemused Turkish envoys pressed for quick action on the dismissal, the diet proceeded to deliberate on Rákóczi's proposals.

The impasse lasted until Rákóczi's death. Against all common sense, he clung to his principality, while the politicians, for their part, could not or dared not depose him. Their indecisiveness was an invitation to punitive action by the Porte.

At first, the more resolute members of the diet did extract a more or less voluntary abdication from Rákóczi, and they even elected a successor in the person of Ferenc Rhédey, who was Gabriel Bethlen's cousin. But Rákóczi soon reaffirmed his claim to the throne, and when the diet reconvened on 14 January 1658, it named him prince once again. That, presumably, was the last straw for Köprülü, who made Transylvania feel his wrath. Having already appointed new voivodes in place of Rákóczi's allies in Moldavia and Wallachia, he proceeded in May 1658 to settle the Transylvani-an problem. As his troops neared the principality, he addressed an ultimatum to the feudal orders demanding Rákóczi's dismissal.

The diet disbanded without taking a stand, and seemed momentarily vindicated, for Rákóczi showed signs of being master of the situation: in June, he inflicted defeat on the grand vizier's advance guard, which was led by Ahmed Saidi, the pasha of Buda. The prince's army had been reinforced by hajdús from Hungary who were delighted to confront the Turks. But their enthusiasm was no match for a mighty empire. When Rákóczi refused to negotiate {2-148.} with the grand vizier, who had reached Transylvania, a destructive wave of Turks and Tartars swept across the land.

Rákóczi's calculation was hard to fathom. His army had been annihilated, the survivors ending up in Tartar captivity. He could still count on the hajdús from Szabolcs County and, perhaps, the nobility, but the latter took their time mustering and, in any case, had grown soft in the uncommonly peaceful era of his reign. And if Rákóczi was realistic, he could entertain little hope of external assistance. In March 1658, after displacing Rhédey, he sent an emissary to Frankfurt to seek support from Leopold I, but the response was evasive. At a time when Leopold's troops were still engaged in assisting his Polish ally, it made little sense for him to back the man who had imposed this necessity.

Since the conclusion of the Thirty Years' War, the Viennese court had pursue a policy of conflict avoidance. Leopold was preoccupied not only with the Polish campaign but also with a quest for the crown of the Holy Roman empire, and he could not be expected to give precedence to the interests of royal Hungary. Transylvania was now drawing the attention of all politicians in that country, and not just those who had expected so much from the Polish campaign. Putting aside their differences, they clamored for help against the looming Turkish threat. In the event, support for Transylvania would materialize only after the conclusion of the Polish war.

Now, in the fall of 1658, there was nothing to stop Mehmed Köprülü's forces from rampaging through the principality. In late August, the Turks had advanced to the major border stronghold of Jenő. The grand vizier moved up wall-busting mortars, and, for five days, the two sides faced each other without firing a shot. No help, not even a message came from Rákóczi, and, on September 2, Jenő's commander surrendered the fort. The vastly outnumbered garrison could hardly have been expected to hold Jenő, yet the prince chose to have the officers court-martialled, and three of them were beheaded.

{2-149.} Meanwhile, Tartars, along with Cossacks and the troops of the new voivodes of Moldavia and Wallachia, met scarcely any opposition as they advanced through Bodza Pass into the defenceless country. Along the way, they put towns and villages to the torch and took thousands captive; the few Székely fighters remaining in the region could do nothing to halt them. At the beginning of September, the invaders reached Gyulafehérvár. The princely capital was undefended, for György Rákóczi II had moved Várad before the arrival of the grand vizier. The Tartars methodically reduced Gyulafehérvár to ashes, building by building, street by street; the cathedral, the princely palace, the college were put to the torch. They even found a walled-up cache holding library treasures, and burnt these as well.

The man who bore the responsibility for this invasion, Rákóczi, was at a safe distance when he learned of the dreadful devastation of Gyulafehérvár. As Turkish-Tartar forces neared Várad, he pulled back to Debrecen; the enemy progressed on its destructive way as far as the Berettyó River. It befell on Ákos Barcsai to try to save what was left of Transylvania. Brought up by the princely family, he had been one of Transylvania's governors when Rákóczi was away in Poland, and was currently serving as chairman of both the diet and the princely council. Barcsai took what in the circumstances was the only sensible initiative, and presented himself to the grand vizier. In exchange for the princely crown, he agreed to pay an annual tribute of 40,000 gold pieces as well as war reparations in the amount 500,000 silver thalers; to cede Lugos and Karánsebes to the Turks; and to have Rákóczi seized. Predictably, his fellows accused him of being self-seeking and power-hungry, but since no one could devise a better solution, the diet endorsed his appointment as prince on 7 October 1658. Thanks to the deal struck by Barcsai, Köprülü and his army departed from Transylvania.