A long fast of Lent would have been strictly observed—no meat, milk, butter, or eggs for more than seven weeks—until the solemn celebrations of Holy Week built steadily to their joyful climax at a midnight service finishing early on Easter morning. Throughout the day itself, friends and family greeted each other with the traditional three kisses, and responded to the jubilant “Christ is risen!” with a reply of equal certainty: “He is risen indeed!” And then, in a ritual whose symbolism stretches back to pagan spring festivals, they would exchange eggs.
So Czar Alexander III was simply following tradition when, in 1885, he gave his beloved czarina, the popular Marie Fedorovna, an apparently unexciting white enameled egg. About 2½ inches high, it had the size and appearance of a large duck egg, but with a gold band around its middle. Only when the Empress opened the Czar’s present did it reveal its true nature: like an elaborate matryoshka doll it contained a perfect yield, made of gold; within that was a golden hen, sitting on a nest of golden straw; and inside the hen was a diamond miniature of the imperial crown, concealing a tiny ruby pendant. Every detail was exquisitely rendered—the craftsmanship unparalleled, the creativity inspired. It was the first egg made by Carl Fabergé for the Russian court. He was not even 40 when his firm made it for the Czar.
Alexander had given her jeweled eggs on previous Easters; he cannot have known that this gift would be the first of a series that would eventually span more than three decades. Nor was the cost of this first egg, 4,151 rubles (approximately $43,000) – such that the decision to order it needed very much thought. It represented a tiny fraction of the Czar’s annual income—an estimated $4.4 million to $94 million. Fabergé may simply have been chosen for the commission because it was his “turn.”
This egg from 1897 is what many consider to be the greatest of all Fabergé’s “public event” eggs. It commemorated Nicholas II and Alexandra’s coronation as emperor and empress in 1896, and succeeded both as an example of technical brilliance and coherence design, whose colors, metal work, and surprise all recalled the ceremony. Made of red gold, the egg is covered in gorgeous opalescent yellow enamel, itself surrounded by a golden ladder studded with black enameled Romanoff eagles. The color combination was intended to evoke the golden robe worn by the Czarina during the ceremony. Inside the egg is an exact replica of Alexandra’s coronation coach. This alone took 15 months to complete, and was all the work of one young jeweler, George Stein, whose 23-year-old eyes were able to cope with the Golden Coach’s extraordinary detailing. Fully articulated and decorated with red enamel and diamonds, its windows were made of rock crystal and its tires of platinum. Even today it retains a sense of remarkable delicacy—the coach’s suspension looks springy and responsive in a way that seems scarcely possible. At that level alone, the Coronation Egg
is a clear and enduring demonstration of Fabergé’s genius.
Adapted from Faberge’s Eggs: The Extraordinary Story of the Masterpieces That Outlived an Empire by Tony Faber. Copyright 2008 by Random House. 302 pages, $30. www.randomhouse.com.
