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# {2-140.} The Polish Campaign and the Onset of Decline in Transylvania

Rákóczi was confident of his prospects when, in January 1657, he went to war as an ally of the Swedish king. His earlier negotiations with Charles X's envoys had led to an agreement that he would become king of Poland and obtain Polish territories up to a line through Warsaw.

The undertaking encountered substantial opposition in Transylvania, from both the dowager and young princesses, Zsuzsanna Lorántffy and Zsófia Báthori, as well as from some of the older councillors. On the other hand, the younger councillors, who had been appointed by György Rákóczi II, were enthusiastic, as were many intellectuals close to the prince. They propagated the view that the illustrious Czech exile, Comenius, had shared back in the summer of 1655 with one of the prince's intimates, András Klobusiczky: 'Nothing is more certain than that Poland will be destroyed, and with it the papacy'.[85]85. Szilágyi, Erdély és az észak-keleti háború I, p. 393.

Their optimism was understandable, for Poland seemed to be ripe for the coup de grâce when Rákóczi headed off in January 1657. He could scarcely have taken account of the loss of Ukraine, for the peace with Moscow had just been concluded; Charles X's troops had penetrated deep into Poland; and Czar Alexei had resumed his offensive. The revolts of Cossacks and peasants spread over two-thirds of Poland's territory. Warsaw had fallen in July 1656, and Poland's only ally, the Habsburg king Leopold I, still did not intervene. This was the situation when, at the head of an army of 13,000 Transylvanians, Rákóczi set off on his richly-harnessed mount through the mountains, attired in luxurious garments and bearing splendid weapons imported from Constantinople. He was to be joined in Poland by 20,000 Cossacks and 6,000 soldiers from the voivodeships.

{2-141.} There was justification for his and his allies' expectation of victory. In the eyes of contemporaries, Rákóczi's objectives must have seemed perfectly natural. His military initiative followed Transylvania's trade routes. When the Turks had imposed their suzerainty, Poland became the principality's commercial gateway to the industrial west, the route taken by much of its imports and exports. In 17th century statecraft, such circumstances readily justified the conquest of neighbors. Apart from these more or less understandable motives, György Rákóczi II had a more important purpose: to expand his personal power. And when he launched his Polish campaign, he was already making plans to confront the Habsburgs in Hungary.

The prince and his supporters anticipated that the Swedish king's attack on Poland would be followed by a multinational assault on the Habsburgs. It was this prospect that led him into alliance with Sweden, a great military power that promised to be as swift and successful in Poland as it had been in the Thirty Years' War.

However, the Polish campaign did not go according to expectations, for it ran out of momentum in the summer of 1657. Rákóczi had taken Cracow and, after April 18, fought jointly with the Swedes. They took Przemyśl on May 23, but when, on June 9, the prince entered Warsaw, his Swedish allies precipitously deserted him. Once again, Baltic interests had intervened: taking advantage of the Swedes' distraction, and after consulting Leopold I, Denmark's Frederick III had launched an attack on Sweden. Meanwhile, the Crimean Tartars had been incited by the Porte to attack the Cossacks, and, on July 21, the latter also withdrew from Poland. By then, Leopold I had moved to take advantage of Denmark's diversionary operation in the north and dispatched troops from royal Hungary and Bohemia into Poland to assist Jan Casimir.

{2-142.} However, Rákóczi's biggest problem was not the departure of his allies or the new arrivals from abroad, but the growing determination of the Poles. Polish fighters had pulled back to the mountains and marshes and, fired by their hatred of the invaders, proceeded to organize an effective national resistance movement. They harassed the enemy ceaselessly, provoking pitched battles in seemingly hopeless conditions. The occupation forces found themselves beleaguered from all sides.

Rákóczi's troops had not lost a single regular battle, and they still controlled Cracow, but they were caught between the Poles and the Tartars. On 22 July 1657, the prince sued for peace with the Polish high command, and he had to accept humiliating terms: to conciliate the king and state of Poland, break off his alliance with the Swedes and Cossacks, promise henceforth to assist Poland, cede back all occupied territory, release his captives, and pay 1,200,000 forints in war reparations. In token of his good faith, he had to leave behind two hostages: his relative, István Apafi, and György Gyerőffy, one of his officers.

After the signature of this onerous treaty, the Transylvanian troops started off for home. György Rákóczi II was the first prince since John Sigismund to have been raised to rule and educated in the duties of governance. Yet it now became apparent that he was not fully cognizant of his responsibilities and lacking in military knowledge. When he ordered the withdrawal, he had no precise information concerning the location of the Tartars. His exhausted troops would have liked to take the shortest route home, but Rákóczi, trying to avoid the Tartars, led them on a tortuous journey. And when the prince finally figured out from what direction this fearsome enemy was approaching, he abandoned his army. He instructed his general, János Kemény, to lead the troops — many of whom were no longer fit for battle — in a different direction, then headed home with a three-hundred strong mounted escort.

{2-143.} In early August, Rákóczi arrived unscathed at Ecsed, there to be greeted by his wife and son. Meanwhile, his army suffered the greatest disaster that befell Transylvania since Mohács. The fighting and disease had taken their toll, and, from the original 13,000, only some 3,000–4,000 men were fit for battle. They were no match for the Tartars. First, they were imposed a stiff ransom, which the officers paid by collecting the money from the rank and file; then the entire army was taken prisoner by the men of Crimean khan.

Rákóczi's presence would not have saved his army from this fate; János Kemény, though a better military commander, could not avoid capture. But it is scarcely understandable why the prince, upon hearing the news, remained inactive. To be sure, his first reaction was to promise that he would buy the freedom of his imprisoned followers 'even if he had to sell all his belongings and have nothing left but a single cloak'.[86]86. Szalárdi, p. 384. However, he never turned thought into action. He behaved as if the matter did not concern him, and he took to dismissing the whole Polish campaign as an insignificant episode. He seemed paralysed by the great shock.

The generally efficient operating principle, that only the reigning prince was entitled to govern, now showed its weakness. For thirty years, the principality had done without other decision-making organs, and it turned out that no one else was capable of running the state. The politicians proved as little capable of administering the country as the military leadership had been of waging a war.

As so often in its history, Transylvania needed exceptional leadership to overcome its difficulties. But so such saviour appeared, and Rákóczi, once he had recovered his composure, displayed only selfishness and lack of vision. Having lost the Polish war, and its army to boot, Transylvania entered into a steep decline. By an ironic twist of history, this misfortune coincided with another development that boded ill for Transylvania: an outstanding figure {2-144.} emerged to take the reins of the Ottoman empire. The Albanian-born Mehmed Köprülü began as a lowly, illiterate soldier, yet he managed to fight his way up in the perilous world of Turkish officialdom. He managed to entrench himself so well that although he had been mentioned as a possible grand vizier for some ten years, none of his rivals dared to kill him. On 15 September 1656, he received the imperial seal from the infant sultan's mother.