Maria Feodorovna, Princess Dagmar of Denmark and Empress consort of Russia

‘It is an unbelievably beautiful and superb piece of work. Fabergé is the greatest genius of our time’

Empress Maria Feodorovna (1847–1928), describing the 1914 Catherine the Great Egg to her sister, Queen Alexandra, widow of Edward VII

The Trans-Siberian Railway Egg of 1900, given to Empress Alexandra by Nicholas II

1. FIFTY FABERGÉ IMPERIAL EASTER EGGS WERE MADE

In 1872 Carl Fabergé took over a small jewellery business in St Petersburg from his father, Gustav. By the time he was forced to close its doors in 1918, he had overseen the production of hundreds of thousands of objects, ranging from necklaces to carved hardstone animals, cigarette cases, umbrella handles, fans and picture frames. At its height, his firm had employed – either directly or through subcontractors – over 1,000 craftsmen, and had branches in Moscow, London, Odessa and Kiev.

Yet there is one reason why we have all heard the name Fabergé, and that is the Easter eggs that he produced for Russia’s last two tsars to give to their tsarinas. 

The sequence began in 1885 with Alexander III’s present to his wife, Maria Feodorovna, of a white enamelled egg. It opened to reveal a golden yolk. Within that was a hen sitting on a nest of golden straw, and inside that was a ruby pendant and a diamond miniature of the Imperial Crown. Both Alexander and Maria clearly liked it; another egg was commissioned for the following year, and so on until Alexander’s death in 1894. 

The last tsar, Nicholas II, continued the practice, giving one each year not just to his mother, Maria, but also to his wife, Alexandra Feodorovna. Apart from a break in 1904–5, when Russia was going through its first revolution, the tradition continued until the last eggs were presented in 1916. Two were planned for 1917, but Nicholas abdicated before they could be completed. So, in total, 50 eggs were made: 30 for Maria and 20 for Alexandra.

Fabergé’s Winter Egg of 1913 

3. THEY DISPLAY AMAZING CREATIVITY

The first 1885 egg was clearly based on an earlier egg owned by the Danish royal family, and had probably been commissioned with detailed instructions. As the tradition was established, however, Fabergé got increasing autonomy when it came to designs, subject to two rules: that each year’s egg should contain a ‘surprise’ and that every egg should be different. 

The result is a sequence of breathtaking variety.

Alexandra’s eggs often memorialise the great events of her husband’s reign: the Coronation Egg of 1897 with its miniature golden coach; the clockwork model train inside the 1900 Trans-Siberian Railway Egg; or the egg from 1913, commemorating 300 years of Romanov rule. 

Others are more domestic. The 1898 Lilies of the Valley Egg is a beautiful piece of Art Nouveau, where pearls imitate flowers; turn one and up fan miniatures of Nicholas and the couple’s two oldest children, Olga and Tatiana, then just babies.

Several of Maria’s eggs commemorate her husband, while the 1898 Pelican Egg unfolds to reveal a series of miniatures that capture her role as ‘mother of the nation’. Others are just great fun: the 1903 Swan Egg contains the bird from which it gets its name, swimming on an aquamarine pool. A flap opens in the top of the 1910 Bay Tree Egg for a bird to emerge, singing a song. Maria’s 1913 Winter Egg can only be described as a masterpiece; a basket of spring anemones sits within the fog of frosted rock crystal: open the egg and spring has sprung.

Only in World War I did the empresses receive eggs that could be said to be companion pieces. The two from 1915 both have a Red Cross theme, while those from the following year – the last – have a more martial tone. Alexandra’s Steel Military Egg, resting on four artillery shells, is a piece of kitsch by comparison with its predecessors. It is a sad way for 30 years of creativity to end.

The 1887 Third Imperial Egg opens to reveal a clock

5. SEVEN EGGS ARE MISSING, BUT SOME MAY YET BE FOUND

The Kremlin archives revealed that eight of Maria’s eggs were missing. Even more tantalisingly, we could compare invoice and inventory descriptions with articles described in Western sale catalogues to show that three of those missing eggs had almost certainly been sold in the West, to purchasers entirely unaware of what they had bought.

The speculation that resulted was gloriously confirmed in 2012 when an anonymous American realised that the egg-shaped clock he had bought at a flea market for the value of the gold and diamonds it contained (about $13,000) was in fact the egg presented to Maria Feodorovna in 1887. 

He is rumoured to have sold it for $30m.

That leaves two to find, and the good news for British readers is that one of them is almost certainly here in the UK. Combining its invoice with a separate inventory description suggests that Maria’s Easter present in 1889 was a ‘Nécessaire egg’ containing 13 articles for a lady’s toilette. 

In 1949 the great London Fabergé dealer Wartski exhibited just such an egg. Shortly afterwards they sold it – as their account books meticulously record – to ‘a stranger’.