The air in the Winter Palace was crisp with the lingering scent of pine, mingling faintly with the smoky breath of burning coal. The smell was comforting to most—familiar, traditional—but to Alexander, it was a reminder of stagnation. The Empire's elite, for all their wealth, still bathed irregularly, wore musty garments drenched in perfume to hide body odor, and relied on outdated methods of hygiene that hadn't changed in centuries.
He planned to change that.
The first shipment of his experimental soaps had arrived discreetly through the back courtyard of a lesser-known warehouse along the Neva. A small team of artisans, recruited quietly from among foreign-trained chemists and local apothecaries, had been working under the guise of a "cosmetic refinement study." Alexander personally funded the workshop with a portion of his allowance, funneled through a proxy merchant with no visible ties to the Romanovs.
In the corner of the workshop sat a gleaming copper vat, recently imported from Bavaria. Inside it, a mixture of rendered animal fats, lye, herbs, and aromatic oils bubbled gently.
"Lavender," said Mikhail, one of the chemists, handing Alexander a carved bar the color of polished bone. "We mixed it with rosemary and bergamot, as you instructed. The consistency is stable. Lathers well. Holds its scent."
Alexander took the bar, turned it in his hand, and inhaled deeply. "Better. The scent isn't overpowering, and it doesn't crumble under pressure."
He glanced to the row of boxes being packed for delivery. No royal seals. No names. Just a plain emblem: Imperial Hygienics & Refinements.
It sounded innocuous enough. Luxurious to nobles, necessary to merchants. Yet to Alexander, it was a test. A new kind of industry. One based not on serfdom, but innovation.
"Have the next shipment sent to the officers' mess at the Cadet Corps. Quietly. If they like it, we'll expand to barracks and bathhouses," Alexander said.
Mikhail blinked. "To the army, sir?"
"Yes. Hygiene improves morale. It reduces disease. And if soldiers associate cleanliness with pride and strength, adoption will spread faster than royal decrees ever could."
He left the warehouse in a modest cloak and fur hat, escorted only by his tutor Zhukovsky. They returned to the palace through side streets, avoiding curious eyes.
"You're taking a risk, Sasha," Zhukovsky said as they walked. "A prince playing merchant?"
Alexander shrugged. "Russia needs new wealth—not just inherited wealth. If I can prove that industry can be ethical and profitable, others will follow. And if I fail…" He smirked faintly. "Then I'll have the cleanest hands in St. Petersburg."
Zhukovsky chuckled despite himself. "Clever. But you'll still need allies to protect you when the old guard grows suspicious."
"They'll grow suspicious regardless. Might as well give them something real to worry about."
Two weeks later, Alexander sat in a modest drawing room in the Anichkov Palace, sipping tea as Count Orlov sniffed a curious bar of soap like it might explode.
"This?" Orlov frowned. "Smells… rather pleasant. But what is it made of?"
Alexander smiled. "Rendered tallow, lye, and flower oils. Cheap. Efficient. And sells for twice its cost."
"Soap?" Orlov said, incredulous. "You're selling soap?"
"I'm selling cleanliness, Count," Alexander replied smoothly. "To soldiers, to merchants, to ladies of court who complain that French perfume costs more than their servants' wages."
"And you think this will fund a railroad?"
"Not entirely. But it's a start. And it creates jobs. Stable ones. No serfs. Paid labor. City work."
Orlov was silent, turning the bar in his hands.
"You may be mad, young man," he said. "But it's a practical sort of madness."
By the end of the month, the first batch of soaps had sold out. Rumors spread in court circles of a mysterious "imported luxury" with floral notes and fine wrapping. Alexander let the speculation build. He quietly expanded production, hired more artisans, and partnered with a textile merchant in Moscow to distribute his "refinements" along commercial routes.
The profit was modest. But the experiment was a success.
More importantly, it proved two things: people would buy modern products, and reform could begin from below—without a single law passed.
And so, as snow continued to fall over the Imperial Capital, Alexander smiled to himself in quiet triumph.
Russia's future, it seemed, could begin with something as simple as soap.