Latest / The Romanov Dynasty: Rise, Power, and Bloody End — Fexingo History / The Romanovs' Fabergé Eggs: Imperial Splendor and Ruin
Transcript
- Lucas: You know, when we talk about the Romanovs, we tend to focus on politics, wars, revolutions. But there's a quieter, glittering side to their story that tells us just as much about who they were. I'm talking about the Fabergé eggs. Luna: Oh, the jewelled ones? They're gorgeous, but I honestly don't know much beyond the name. Lucas: Right, so let's go back to 1885. Tsar Alexander III, on the advice of his brother Grand Duke Vladimir, decides to commission a special Easter gift for his wife, Empress Maria Feodorovna. He goes to a jeweller named Carl Fabergé, whose workshop in St. Petersburg is already renowned. The result is the Hen Egg — a simple white enamel shell that opens to reveal a gold yolk, which opens to reveal a gold hen, which contains a tiny diamond crown and a ruby pendant. Luna: So it's like a Russian nesting doll, but made of gold and gems. Lucas: Exactly. And Maria is so delighted that Alexander orders one every year — and so begins the tradition of the Imperial Easter eggs. Over the next thirty-two years, fifty eggs are crafted, one for each Easter, each one a surprise. The only rule is that each egg must contain a surprise, and it must be unique. Lucas: Fabergé himself wasn't just a master jeweller — he was a genius of engineering and imagination. His workshop, the House of Fabergé, employed hundreds of craftsmen, and each egg could take a year to complete. The designs ranged from the Trans-Siberian Railway egg, which contains a miniature gold train that actually runs, to the Coronation egg of 1897, made to celebrate Nicholas II's crowning, which holds a tiny replica of the imperial coach. Luna: Wait, a tiny coach that actually moves? How is that even possible? Lucas: It's incredible craftsmanship. The coach is about three inches long, with doors that open, wheels that turn, and even a tiny crown on top. And that's exactly the point — these eggs were meant to astonish. They weren't just gifts; they were demonstrations of imperial power and wealth, a way of saying 'Look what we can create.' Lucas: But by the time Nicholas II came to the throne in 1894, the eggs also carried a darker undertone. He continued the tradition for both his mother and his wife, Alexandra — so two eggs a year — but the cost was staggering. Each egg cost tens of thousands of rubles, at a time when a worker might earn a few hundred a year. And this was happening while Russia was simmering with unrest. Luna: That's a pretty stark contrast — jewelled eggs for the royal family while people are starving. Lucas: Exactly. And that's not just hindsight. In 1905, the year of the Revolution and Bloody Sunday, Nicholas was still commissioning eggs. The 1905 egg, the Alexander Palace egg, is a delicate ivory and gold piece, but it's easy to imagine how that played to critics. The Romanovs seemed to be living in a bubble of opulence, completely disconnected from the suffering around them. Lucas: Now, let's jump to 1913 — the Tercentenary egg. That's the one we talked about in our episode on the celebrations. It's a masterpiece of engraving, with portraits of all the Romanov tsars on a silver and gold shell. It was meant to symbolize three hundred years of dynasty, but the irony is painful. Within five years, that dynasty would be gone, and the eggs would be scattered across the world. Luna: So what happened to them after the revolution? Lucas: That's where the story gets really interesting. After Nicholas abdicated in 1917, the eggs were still in the palaces. The Provisional Government actually tried to sell some of them to raise funds — there's a record of the Kremlin Palace being asked for 'objects of precious metal' to sell. But it was the Bolsheviks who really scattered them. Many were sold to Western collectors, often through intermediaries, for a fraction of their worth. Others were melted down for the gold and jewels — it's estimated that some eggs were simply destroyed. Luna: That's heartbreaking. But some survived, right? Lucas: Oh, absolutely. Today, there are forty-three known Imperial eggs in existence. The largest collection is in the Kremlin Armory in Moscow — ten of them. Others are in museums and private collections around the world. But here's the thing — the most famous ones, the ones you see in auctions, they were the ones that ended up in the hands of collectors like Malcolm Forbes, who bought a bunch in the 1960s and 70s. In 2004, his collection was sold at auction for over a hundred million dollars. Lucas: And there's one more twist. In 2015, a scrap metal dealer in the US bought a gold egg at a junk market for about fourteen thousand dollars, thinking it was just a pretty trinket. He tried to melt it down, but it turned out to be a Fabergé egg worth over thirty-three million. He had no idea what he had — and he ended up selling it to a private collector. Luna: Wow, talk about a hidden gem. So these eggs are still out there, waiting to be found? Lucas: Possibly. There are eight Imperial eggs that are still missing. Some were likely destroyed, but others might be in private hands, unrecognized. It's a bit of a treasure hunt for art historians. And that brings us to the final chapter — the last egg ever made. Lucas: In 1917, Nicholas commissioned an egg for his mother, Maria. It was the Karelian Birch egg, made of birchwood, palladium, and diamonds — a more modest design, because the war was draining resources. It was never delivered. The revolution interrupted everything, and the egg ended up in a museum in Moscow. It's the only egg that was never finished with its surprise — a miniature of the tsar's family in front of the Alexander Palace. It sits unfinished, a symbol of a dynasty that came to a brutal end. Luna: That's such a poignant image. An unfinished egg, a family that never got their last gift. Lucas: And that's the thing about the Fabergé eggs — they're not just pretty objects. They're a lens into the Romanovs' world, their values, their blindness. They show us a dynasty that could create wonders but couldn't see the writing on the wall. And I think that's why they still fascinate us — they're a beautiful, tragic reminder. Luna: You know, thinking about that contrast — the eggs and the revolution — it really makes you wonder about the choices people make in times of crisis. Lucas: It does. And it's funny you mention that, because it ties into something about how we make this show. We're able to explore these stories — the big and the small — because of a small group of listeners who chip in monthly through buy me a coffee dot com slash fexingo. That support literally funds the research and production of episodes like this. Luna: Yeah, it's a pretty independent operation. No ads, no corporate backing — just people who love history and want to keep it ad-free. Lucas: Exactly. And we're grateful for every bit of it. But let's get back to the eggs — because there's one more surprising layer to this story. Did you know that some of the eggs were actually commissioned in secret, as diplomatic gifts? Luna: No, I didn't. Who got those? Lucas: Well, Fabergé also made eggs for other wealthy clients, like the Rothschilds and the Duchess of Marlborough. But the Romanovs also used them as tools of statecraft. For example, in 1906, Nicholas gave a Fabergé egg to the Kaiser's ambassador — a little diplomatic sweetener. And there were also 'family eggs' that were more private, like the one Nicholas gave to Alexandra on the birth of their son, Alexei. Luna: So the eggs were essentially a way of saying 'I care' at the highest level of power. Lucas: Exactly. And each egg tells a story — not just of the person who received it, but of the time it was made. The 1910 egg, for example, was the Alexander Palace egg, which has a miniature of the palace where the family lived. The 1914 egg was the Catherine the Great egg, with a mechanical sedan chair — a nod to the past glories of the empire. But by 1916, the eggs became simpler, more somber — the Order of St. George egg, made of steel and gold, reflects the austerity of war. Lucas: So when you look at the whole collection, you're looking at a timeline of the dynasty's fortunes — from the opulence of Alexander III to the wartime restraint of Nicholas II. And that's what makes them so valuable to historians — not just as art, but as documents. Luna: It's like each egg is a little time capsule. I never thought of them that way. Lucas: And that's what I love about this topic. It's easy to dismiss the eggs as just luxury trinkets, but they're so much more. They're a window into the hearts and minds of the Romanovs — their joys, their fears, their blind spots. And they remind us that even the most beautiful things can't save an empire that refuses to change.