The Holy Soap of Sternberg (2)
The next day.
Clang, clang, clang—
The heavy tolling of the bell tower, announcing Sunday morning, rang out across all of Prague. Normally, the citizens would have been lounging in their beds, but Prague was bustling from the crack of dawn today. People hurried to dress and poured out into the streets.
Their footsteps all led to one place.
The Church of Our Lady before Týn, standing tall in the Old Town Square.
Murmur, murmur—
The interior of the church was already packed, with not a single inch of space left to stand.
In the past, the Mass had been a continuous, tedious affair. A priest would mumble incomprehensible Latin from far away at the altar, and the believers would simply stand there, suppressing yawns or nodding off. But now, it was different. The Bohemian Reformation had completely transformed the landscape of worship.
Every believer held a thick book in their hands.
It was the mass-produced Czech Bible printed by the Royal Press. Though it was a crude bundle of paper without leather binding or gold-leaf decorations, the people held it to their chests as if it were a treasure.
“Now, everyone, be silent! The Mass is beginning!”
A priest ascended the altar. Instead of vestments embroidered with flashy gold thread, he wore a simple black cassock symbolizing poverty—a Hussite priest. He was Jan Rokycana, the spiritual pillar of the Bohemian Hussites and the leader of the moderate faction. Rokycana stood at the lectern and opened the Bible.
“Brothers and sisters, today we shall read the words the Lord has given us together.”
The language that flowed from his lips was not Latin. It was Czech, the familiar and rugged mother tongue used in the markets of Prague, in taverns, and at family dinner tables.
“Matthew, chapter 10, verse 8.”
Following Rokycana’s lead, thousands of believers opened their Bibles simultaneously. Those who could read did so aloud, and those who could not listened intently, joining their voices together.
“‘Heal the sick, raise the dead, cleanse those who have leprosy, drive out demons. Freely you have received; freely give...’ This is the word of the Lord.”
“Thanks be to God.”
Thousands of voices blended together, echoing through the church.
Toward the end of the Mass, after the reading of the Gospel, Rokycana remained silent for a moment. In his hand was a note delivered from the Prague Palace—a personal letter from the King, handed down under the guise of special preaching guidelines. He looked down from the pulpit, scanning the congregation.
“Brothers and sisters.”
Rokycana’s voice rang out solemnly. The noise in the cathedral subsided, and every gaze focused on the pulpit.
“Today, I wish to speak to you about how the purity of the flesh is connected to the salvation of the soul.”
Rokycana paused for a moment before abruptly asking a question.
“Have you, by any chance... heard of the soap guaranteed by the King?”
A murmur rippled through the believers. Those who had received the free soap at the market yesterday spoke up in unison.
“Ah, the one that smells like apples?”
“I have some at my house, too!”
Rokycana nodded and opened a box placed beneath the pulpit. He took out an ivory-colored bar of soap and held it high, as if elevating the Eucharist.
“That is correct. This white soap that was distributed at the market yesterday. Many of you likely think of this merely as a tool for washing the body.”
Strength filled Rokycana’s voice.
“However! This is an object specially consecrated by the Church, imbued with the grace of God.”
The eyes of the believers widened. It wasn’t just soap, but a consecrated holy relic?
“We are living in an age of plague. Outside, the devil known as the Black Death, the invisible shadow of death, is targeting us. And what does that devil ride upon? It is the stench!”
Rokycana’s eyes burned. As one of the greatest intellectuals of his time, he was a firm believer in the Miasma theory.
“Filth is a sin! The stench from an unwashed body is like an invitation to the devil. Conversely, fragrance is a blessing from God. The Bible testifies that the Garden of Eden was always filled with sweet-smelling scents.”
The believers were drawn into Rokycana’s sermon. There was an irresistible authority in the words uttered by the leader of the Hussites.
“This soap, bestowed by the Royal Court, contains a powerful fragrance that drives away the devil, along with a blessing. If you use this, the devil of contagion will not dare to invade your bodies.”
The believers stirred. The piece of soap they had received for free yesterday and shoved into a corner suddenly began to feel like a holy relic.
“Therefore, listen! This is not a recommendation. It is a sacred duty to preserve the flesh and purify the soul.”
Rokycana pressed his advantage, beginning to provide specific behavioral guidelines.
“First! Wash your hands every day. When you return home after work, before you sit at the table to pick up bread, and after you finish your meal. Between your daily tasks, you must wash your hands with soap and clothe your body in its fragrance. You must wash away the energy of evil clinging to your fingertips.”
The believers nodded and listened intently.
“Second! Before sharing sacred love between husband and wife, you must cleanse your bodies with soap. Love shared with a dirty body is merely carnal desire, but love shared with a body purified by fragrance will resemble the joy of heaven.”
Several couples blushed and looked at each other.
“And third! This is the most important.”
Rokycana looked around at the women in the cathedral with a grave expression.
“Before giving birth, the midwife and the mother must wash their entire bodies and hands with soap. A newborn life is fragile and easily becomes a target for the devil. But if you wrap the hands of the mother and the midwife in the fragrance of the soap, the child to be born will safely see the light of the world within the grace of the Lord!”
Gasps erupted from here and there. At the time, the mortality rate for mothers and newborns due to puerperal fever was terrifyingly high. To the medieval people who had considered it the devil’s mischief, the concrete solution of soap presented by a renowned priest was nothing short of a gospel.
Just then, someone in the crowd shouted.
“Master Rokycana! I didn’t receive the Royal soap! Does that mean I’m going to be caught by the devil?”
“I didn’t get any either! I’ll pay for it, so please tell us where it’s sold!”
Cries from people gripped by anxiety poured out. Fear and a longing for salvation filled the cathedral. Rokycana calmed the crowd with a feigned, benevolent smile.
“Do not worry. The grace of the Lord does not dwell only in specific objects. It does not matter if it is not the soap guaranteed by the King.”
Rokycana spread his arms and declared in a compassionate voice.
“If you have soap you were already using at home, or if you obtain other soap at the market, bring it to the church. The church will bestow a blessing upon that soap!”
“Ohhh...!”
“Any soap, if used with a pure heart, will have the same efficacy. Because what is important is the act of washing itself, not the tool!”
If he had declared here that ‘only the Royal soap is effective,’ it would have devolved into a mere market hawking tactic. But the statement that he would bless all soap actually added to the credibility of the Royal soap.
“The Mass is over. Believers, return in peace.”
With Rokycana’s closing declaration, the believers made the sign of the cross in unison.
“Amen.”
On a normal Sunday, people would have gathered in small groups to chat or headed home at a leisurely pace. It was the custom of Sunday to ask after neighbors one hadn’t seen in a while and enjoy the leisure of buying bread sold in a corner of the square. However, today’s ‘Amen’ was not a peaceful farewell for the journey home. It was closer to the starting signal for racehorses.
As if a dam had burst, thousands of people poured out of the cathedral at once.
“Move! I’m going first!”
“Don’t push! People are going to get crushed!”
Their destination was only one place: a corner of the Old Town Square where the soap merchant had brought his cart yesterday.
* * *
At the same time.
Jan, a craftsman from the Soap Guild, was sighing deeply beside his cart.
“Phew... I hope I can sell some today.”
Ivory-colored soap was stacked neatly on the cart. However, passersby only sniffed the air and showed no intention of opening their purses.
‘Was the free distribution yesterday less effective than I thought?’
Just then, Jan spotted a cloud of dust approaching the square from the corner of the alley where the Týn Church was located.
“Wh-what is that? Is the radical Hussite faction staging an uprising again?”
Jan hid behind the cart, gripped by premature fear. However, what emerged through the dust cloud was not an armed mob. It was the citizens of Prague, clutching silver coins in their hands with bloodshot eyes.
“There it is!”
“It’s the soap merchant!”
Hundreds of people rushed toward Jan like an angry wave.
“Give us the soap! Give us the Royal soap!”
“I have money here! I’ll give you 10 groschen, so give me ten bars!”
“Move! If my kid catches the Black Death, are you going to take responsibility?!”
People pushed each other, shouting and thrusting silver coins into Jan’s face. Jan felt his head spinning.
“Agh! W-wait a minute! Don’t push!”
It was a good thing business was booming, but at this rate, he was going to be trampled to death before he could sell any soap. He jumped onto the cart and shouted.
“Everyone, calm down! If you don’t keep order, I won’t sell any soap! How can you treat an object that carries the honor of His Majesty the King like beasts!”
At the mention of the King, people flinched and stepped back. Jan took advantage of the opening to shout quickly.
“Stock is limited, and there are many brothers and sisters who desire the soap. Therefore!”
He held up one finger.
“One per person! I will only sell one each! Hoarding is prohibited!”
Immediate backlash erupted from the crowd.
“That makes no sense! I have five people in my family!”
“Why won’t you sell it when I’m offering money!”
Protests rained down from everywhere, but Jan didn’t blink an eye and shouted even louder.
“It is the King’s will! Do you not know that this is the mercy of His Majesty, who wishes for more of his subjects to receive the blessing equally! Monopoly is a sin that steals salvation from others!”
When Jan roared, the complaints subsided. Who would dare to argue when it was the King’s will?
“Form a line! Have your money ready in advance! I will not sell soap to anyone who cuts in line!”
Clink, clink, clink—
The sound of silver coins falling into the container continued incessantly. The soap that had been piled like a mountain on the cart disappeared like snow melting. Jan couldn’t hide his smile as he handed out soap and received money without a moment’s rest. The product that people had barely taken for free yesterday had become a precious commodity that couldn’t be bought today.
* * *
The next destination for those who had obtained the soap was the public bathhouses (Lázně) located throughout Prague.
“Let’s go to the bathhouse!”
“We have to go quickly and wash. Before the devil attaches himself to us!”
Usually, the public bathhouses of Prague were deserted places. They were merely spots frequented by idlers looking for prostitution or wealthy merchants preparing for a special day. But today, every bathhouse in Prague met with unprecedented prosperity since their opening.
“Now, now! Don’t push! The changing room is full!”
“Ah, just let me in! I brought the soap!”
The changing room was already a chaotic mess of people undressing, dressing, and waiting for their turn, with no room to stand.
“Wait, who is this? Isn’t that Jakub?”
“Haha, Tomáš, you’ve come too. I thought you only washed once a year at Easter.”
The two neighbors who met by chance at the bathhouse were holding pieces of white soap as if they had made a pact.
“Are you going to use it too? That... Royal soap.”
“I was just about to lather it up. I have to see if what the priest said is true.”
Tomáš stepped into a wooden tub filled with hot water. When he wetted the soap and rubbed it, white foam instantly bloomed like a cumulus cloud.
“Oh! It really smells like apples!”
“Is this a blessing from God? Just smelling the fragrance makes my head feel clear!”
People began to wash their bodies using the soap as if possessed. Old grime was scrubbed away like noodles, and the space was filled with squeaky-clean skin and fragrance. The ones who were dying were the bathhouse maids.
“Water! Bring more hot water!”
“We’re out of firewood! Bring more quickly!”
Their faces were covered in soot as they drew water from the well and shoved firewood into the furnace without rest. One maid grumbled while carrying a bucket of hot water.
“Oh, my back. Why are there so many people today?”
“I don’t know! Everyone is making a fuss because they say the plague will go away because of some soap!”
The scent of the soap foam the customers had washed off suddenly brushed against the grumbling maid’s nose.
“But... the fragrance is really good. It makes me want to buy one too.”
That day, a miracle-like event occurred in Prague. From pedestrians on the street, children running through alleys, and even porters returning home after hard labor—a fresh and sweet apple fragrance was rising from people’s skin.