The Hygiene Revolution (2)
There is a scene that appears as if by appointment in every fantasy or alternative history novel.
The protagonist from the modern world travels back to the Middle Ages, "invents" soap by mixing lye and oil, and the natives are left in utter shock. It is a tired, predictable cliché.
But the reality was starkly different. People in the Middle Ages already knew how to make soap.
The fact that mixing lye with oil created a cleaning agent was an ancient, dusty piece of common knowledge passed down for thousands of years. There are even records of soap in the Old Testament.
Therefore, the production itself was not the point of contention.
The real question was: what quality of soap could one produce?
And for me, a chemist, this problem was as simple as reciting the multiplication table.
Prague Palace, Third Annex.
My private workshop, where the most radical and dangerous experiments in Bohemia were conducted.
The fragrant scent of flowers or the savory smell of food that permeated the palace did not exist here.
Instead, the space was filled with the stinging stench of sulfur, the fishy smell of iron, and the acrid odor of unidentified chemicals.
In the center of this alien space, three people had gathered at my summons.
Janos, leaning against the wall like a shadow.
Sarka, the maid, who was terrified and twisting the edge of her apron.
And the guest I had specifically brought in from Prague.
"Hmm..."
A middle-aged man wearing a leather apron soaked in oil, his forearms marked with burn scars like medals, looked around the workshop.
He was Josef, the head of the Prague Soap Guild and a soap artisan with 30 years of experience.
"Everyone is here."
I opened my mouth, looking around at the group.
"I have called you here for one reason. I intend to fill Prague—and by extension, all of Bohemia—with a new kind of soap."
My gaze shifted to Josef, the soap artisan.
"However, I have no interest in the expensive, rare goods used only by the nobility. What I want is soap as common as the stones on the street. But its quality must be far superior to what the nobles use."
Josef’s brow furrowed.
He cleared his throat once and spoke in a deliberately dignified voice.
"Your Majesty, if I may be so bold as to say a word?"
"Granted."
"I have heard that Your Majesty is a god of war and well-versed in alchemy. But..."
Josef’s eyes turned toward the pig fat sitting in the corner of the workshop. A look of blatant contempt crossed his face.
"Just as you cannot harvest grapes from a thorn bush, soap-making is a realm of honest craftsmanship. That... lowly pig fat can only produce cheap lye soap fit for the women at the laundry pits."
"Ho-ho."
I stroked my chin, finding it amusing.
"So, the soap you make is that magnificent? Rumor has it that the noblewomen of Prague won't even wash themselves unless it's with your soap."
"You flatter me, Your Majesty."
Josef bowed his head, pretending to be humble, but his shoulders remained puffed up with pride.
"My soap is not just soap. It is a work of art. Once people use it, they won't look at anything else. The softness against the skin, the subtly spreading fragrance... that is something no one else can imitate."
At that moment, Sarka, who had been standing in the corner, raised her hand hesitantly.
"Um... Your Majesty."
"Hmm?"
"Why on earth was I called here? I don't know anything about soap. I’m just an ignorant girl who only knows how to do laundry..."
Sarka trailed off, shrinking her shoulders.
She couldn't even breathe properly in the strange air of the workshop.
"I know. That’s why I called you. I need someone to be the first to try the soap I’m about to make and tell me whether it’s usable or not."
I nodded, speaking with a tone of conviction.
"In that regard, your rough hands are the most honest measure. In this experiment, Sarka, your role is more important than anyone else's."
"Ah..."
Sarka’s cheeks flushed red.
To her, her roughened hands were a flaw she always wanted to hide. But I praised those calluses as proof of hard labor and a badge of trust.
At this unexpected recognition, her eyes trembled slightly.
"Your Majesty! That is absurd!"
Watching this, Josef burst out in protest.
"What could a mere maid know to evaluate such a thing? The true value of soap is something only the noble-born can recognize. It is like casting pearls before swine!"
Janos’s eyebrows twitched.
He looked ready to reach for his sword hilt, but I raised a hand to stop him. Then, I calmly asked back.
"Then I would like to ask. Josef, how exactly do you make that high-end soap you speak of?"
At my question, Josef puffed out his chest as if he had been waiting for it. His eyes sparkled as the conversation turned to his field of expertise.
"Your Majesty, soap is a work of art born from the noble patience of man infused into materials bestowed by heaven. Thus, there are three ironclad rules in soap-making that cannot be compromised."
He held up one finger with a solemn face.
"First, the ingredients. I wouldn't use Bohemia’s lowly pig fat even if it were given to me. Only olive tree fruits grown in the hot sun of Spain’s Castile or Italy, far to the south. Among them, only the clearest, purest olive oil is qualified to become true soap."
He held up another finger.
"Second, the lye. You cannot use ash from just any wood. It must be precious soda made by burning seaweed that has grown in the sea breeze. Just obtaining that costs a fortune in gold coins."
Top-tier Spanish olive oil and soda from burnt coastal seaweed.
Both were materials that could not be obtained in Bohemia, a landlocked country without a sea. Naturally, the prices were astronomically high.
"And third. This is the most important."
Josef held up his final finger with a grave expression.
"It is time."
"Time?"
"Yes, that is correct."
Josef spoke as solemnly as a priest reciting scripture.
"If you mix olive oil and soda and stir it over a low flame for a long time, it becomes a dough as soft as cream. But that is only the beginning. You must pour that dough into a mold and let it dry in a well-ventilated, shaded area."
He shook his head firmly.
"A month? Two months? That is out of the question. It must be aged for at least half a year, or even over a year. Only then does the poison leave the soap, and finally, the white, hard, and fragrant 'Castile soap'—like the skin of a noblewoman—is born."
Josef clenched his fist and spoke passionately.
"That one year of waiting! That time of endurance! That is why my soap is expensive. It is not just a washing object; it means you are buying the time and sincerity I have invested."
When Josef’s long-winded speech ended, a strange silence hung over the workshop.
Sarka looked on with admiring eyes, thinking it sounded impressive even if she didn't quite understand, while Janos let out a dry laugh and shook his head.
And I.
I had to bite my lip to keep from bursting into laughter.
It takes a year to make a single bar of soap?
That was nothing to brag about. It was a confession of his own incompetence to the whole world.
The process he called aging and drying was merely a stopgap measure to compensate for the incompleteness of the chemical reaction with time.
Because he lacked the technology to control the chemical reaction, he simply left it to nature and waited forever.
And yet, he packaged that endless waiting as "sincerity" and added the cost of that inefficiency to the price to rip off the nobles.
I looked at the arrogant artisan with my arms crossed.
"I have heard you well, Josef. I express my respect for your noble craftsmanship."
Josef puffed up at my praise, which was not really praise. But the next words shattered his expectations.
"However, I have no intention of wasting a whole year to make a single bar of soap."
"Excuse me...?"
"A month is too long, let alone a year. For the soap I am going to make, a week is enough. That includes everything from manufacturing to drying and actual use."
"That is... that is nonsense..."
I gestured to Janos.
"Bring the materials."
Janos began to move the pre-prepared materials onto the workbench one by one.
Thud.
The first thing to occupy the table was a jar filled with white lumps of fat.
"It is lard."
Josef shook his head.
"Hah, Your Majesty. Are you really going to use pig fat? Have I not told you repeatedly? No matter how hard you try with such impure oil, you will only get a sticky lump of lye."
Josef wasn't wrong.
Lard has a lower content of unsaturated fatty acids and a higher melting point than olive oil.
If mixed with lye without any special treatment, the reaction speed would be slow, and the particles of the result would be coarse.
But that was only true if you just mixed them together.
Thud.
The second material was brought up.
"It is lye."
Sarka nodded as if she were used to it. It was something she used every day for laundry.
Up to this point, Josef didn't have much of a reaction. Pig fat and lye—it was the typical formula for cheap soap for the common people.
But the moment the third material appeared, cracks appeared in his arrogant expression.
Janos set down a basket.
Inside, it was filled with red, luscious fruit.
"Ap... ples?"
Josef blinked. Sarka also tilted her head in confusion and asked.
"Your Majesty, is this a snack?"
"No. It’s an ingredient."
"For soap? Apples?"
Josef frowned as if it were ridiculous.
"Your Majesty, if you add fruit juice, the soap will rot. If you want to add fragrance, you should use expensive perfume oil; if you add such raw things, it will be covered in mold in a few days."
He wasn't wrong.
If it were a standard manufacturing method, that is.
But the reason I prepared apples was not to squeeze out the juice.
The natural wax component and pectin contained in the apple peel, and this refreshing fruit scent, were what I wanted.
And the final ingredient.
The protagonist of this experiment, and the key that would overturn the common sense of the Middle Ages.
Thud-
Janos set a heavy sack on the workbench. As the knot was untied, white crystals poured out like jewels.
"Salt...?"
Josef’s eyes widened.
He picked up a crystal and touched it to the tip of his tongue, as if he couldn't believe it. A salty taste. It was undoubtedly salt.
"Your Majesty! Salt! Are you telling me you intend to use salt to make soap?"
He jumped up from his spot.
"Salt is the polar opposite of soap! Have you ever tried doing laundry with seawater? It produces absolutely no foam! If salt touches it, the soap loses its strength and hardens! And you want to pour salt into the cauldron where you're making soap? That is like throwing ash into a finished product!"
I smiled at Josef, who was jumping around in a frenzy.
"Throwing ash into a finished product... that’s an interesting expression."
Josef’s point was accurate knowledge born from experience.
Indeed, in saltwater, or hard water, soap does not dissolve well and clumps up.
But he only knew half the truth.
The property where soap does not dissolve in saltwater.
Utilizing that very property is the essence of modern chemical engineering.
I grabbed a handful of salt and let it slip through my fingers like sand.
"As you say, salt pushes soap away. Just as water and oil do not mix, saltwater and soap do not mix."
"If you know that, then why...!"
"That is why I am using it."
I pointed to the empty cauldron.
"Because they don't mix. Because they push each other away. I am going to use that property to extract only the soap. I will make the impurities, residue, and smelly glycerin sink to the bottom, and extract only the pure soap itself."
Josef’s mouth hung open. He didn't seem to understand my words at all.
Push away? Extract?
It was a mechanism that he couldn't possibly imagine with his 30 years of experience.
I rolled up my sleeves.
"Seeing is better than a hundred explanations. Light the fire. Keep the temperature as high as possible."
Janos lit the furnace. The massive iron cauldron began to heat up.
I tossed the prepared lumps of lard into the cauldron.
Sizzle—!
Along with the sound of the fat melting, the heavy scent of fat mixed with a gamey odor spread.
Sarka sniffed the air. It must have been a familiar kitchen smell to her. But Josef wrinkled his nose and covered it, as if he had been insulted.
"Watch closely, Josef."
I declared as I poured the lye over the boiling cauldron of fat.
"I will show you how these trashy materials you so despised will surpass your one-year-old masterpiece."