Latest / The Romanov Dynasty: Rise, Power, and Bloody End — Fexingo History / The Romanovs' Fabergé Eggs: Imperial Gifts and Lost Treasures
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- Lucas: Luna, have you ever seen a Fabergé egg up close? Luna: No, but I've seen pictures. They're incredible, all those jewels and tiny surprises inside. Lucas: They really are. And they weren't just baubles — they were deeply personal, political, and tied to the Romanovs' story from Alexander III all the way to the end. I want to talk about them today because we've covered so much of the dynasty's power and fall, but the eggs offer a different lens: art, craftsmanship, and a kind of doomed elegance. Lucas: The tradition started in 1885. Tsar Alexander III wanted to give his wife, Empress Maria Feodorovna, an Easter gift. Easter was the most important holiday in Orthodox Russia, and the Tsar was a family man in his own way. So he commissioned Peter Carl Fabergé — a jeweler of French Huguenot descent, born in St. Petersburg — to make an egg. Luna: Wait, so Fabergé wasn't a Russian name? Lucas: No, his family originally came from France. But his father Gustav had founded the House of Fabergé in St. Petersburg, and Carl took over in 1882. By then, the firm was already known for exquisite jewelry. But the first Imperial egg was relatively simple: it was a white enamel shell that opened to reveal a gold yolk, which opened to reveal a gold hen, which opened to reveal a tiny diamond replica of the imperial crown and a ruby pendant. Maria was delighted. Lucas: And that set the pattern. Every year after that, Alexander III commissioned a new egg for Maria. After he died in 1894, his son Nicholas II continued the tradition — but now he ordered two eggs each year: one for his mother, Maria, and one for his wife, Alexandra. So from 1895 to 1916, Fabergé produced an egg every single Easter, each one unique and more elaborate than the last. Luna: Two eggs a year? That must have been incredibly expensive. Lucas: It was. Each egg cost thousands of rubles — the equivalent of hundreds of thousands of dollars today. But for the Romanovs, it wasn't just about money. It was about prestige, artistry, and tradition. Fabergé had a workshop of master craftsmen: goldsmiths, enamelers, gem cutters, miniature painters. They worked in total secrecy for months, and the Tsar never saw the egg until it was presented. Lucas: The eggs often contained a 'surprise' — a miniature replica of something meaningful. The 1897 Coronation Egg, for Nicholas and Alexandra, contained a tiny, fully functional golden carriage modelled on the one used at their coronation. It was only about four inches long, but every detail was perfect: the doors opened, the wheels turned, the crown rested on a cushion inside. Luna: That's mind-blowing. How did they even make something that small and detailed? Lucas: Hours of work, specialised tools, and generations of skill. Fabergé's team included Mikhail Perkhin, Henrik Wigström, and other masters. They used techniques like guilloché enameling — a kind of engine-turned background pattern under translucent enamel — which gave the eggs a shimmering depth. Some eggs had moving parts, like the Peacock Egg with a mechanical peacock that walked and fanned its tail. Luna: And all of this was happening while Russia was facing revolution, war, and famine. Lucas: Exactly. That's the tragic irony. In 1905, the year of Bloody Sunday and the October Manifesto, Fabergé delivered the 1905 egg — the Rosebud Egg, which opened to reveal a miniature of the Tsarevich Alexei in a gold frame. Meanwhile, workers were starving and protesting. The eggs were a world apart from the reality of Russian life. Lucas: But they also reflected the Tsar's personality. Nicholas II was deeply sentimental — he loved his family, and the eggs were intensely personal. The 1913 Romanov Tercentenary Egg commemorated three hundred years of Romanov rule. It featured eighteen miniatures of past Tsars, from Michael to Nicholas II, each painted on ivory. It was a statement of dynasty, continuity, and divine right — at a time when that right was crumbling. Luna: Did the eggs have any political meaning beyond just a gift? Lucas: Absolutely. They were symbols of imperial power, of the Tsar's role as the father of his people. The Easter egg itself was a symbol of resurrection and renewal — which in the context of autocracy, meant the eternal renewal of the dynasty. By commissioning these eggs, the Tsar was performing a ritual of continuity, even as the ground shifted beneath him. Lucas: And then came the war. In 1914, World War I broke out. The 1914 egg, the Mosaic Egg, was still made of opals and diamonds, but the surprise was a miniature of the Tsar's children. By 1915, the eggs became more austere — the Red Cross Egg featured the portraits of the Empress and her daughters as nurses, because they were working in hospitals. The 1916 Steel Military Egg was made of steel, not gold, to reflect the war effort. Luna: Steel? That's a huge change from the usual opulence. Lucas: It was. The Easter eggs were adapting to the times, but the tradition continued right up to the Revolution. In 1917, Fabergé actually completed two eggs before the February Revolution — the Birch Egg and the Constellation Egg — but they were never delivered. The Birch Egg was made from Karelian birch, a humble material, and it was given to the Dowager Empress Maria after she fled to the Crimea. The Constellation Egg never reached Nicholas II at all. Lucas: After the Bolsheviks took power, the eggs were confiscated along with all imperial property. Some were sold by Stalin in the 1920s and 1930s to raise foreign currency — the famous 'treasure sales' to the West. Many ended up in private collections and museums. Today, ten of the fifty-two known Imperial eggs are still missing. There's been a decades-long search for them. Luna: Ten missing? That's incredible. Are they still out there somewhere, waiting to be found? Lucas: Possibly. Some were sold at auction and then lost track of. The Rothschild Fabergé Egg, not an Imperial one, was found in a private collection and sold for millions. In 2014, a scrap metal dealer in the US found a Fabergé egg at a flea market and sold it for $33,000 — it turned out to be the missing Third Imperial Egg, worth over $33 million. So yes, there's hope. Luna: Wow. So these eggs are like time capsules — they survived the Revolution, war, and even the scrap heap. Lucas: They are. And they tell a story of the Romanovs that's different from the usual narrative of power and repression. They show the family's intimacy, their taste, and their obliviousness. The eggs are beautiful, but they're also a lesson in the fragility of empire. Lucas: Speaking of the cost of all that beauty, it's a good moment to note that this show exists because of listeners who support it directly. A handful of people chip in a few dollars a month through buy me a coffee dot com slash fexingo, and that's what funds us making these deep dives into Romanov history. Luna: Yeah, it's a small group, but it makes a huge difference. Keeps us independent and ad-free. Lucas: Exactly. And it allows us to spend time on topics like Fabergé eggs — the details, the research, the stories that deserve a full conversation. So if you've been thinking about it, that's where you can help. Luna: Alright, so back to the eggs — we mentioned the 1917 eggs weren't delivered. What happened to them exactly? Lucas: The Birch Egg was given to Maria Feodorovna by her son, but she took it with her into exile. It ended up in a museum in Russia after her death. The Constellation Egg was found unfinished in Fabergé's workshop after the Revolution. It's now in the Kremlin Armoury Museum. But the 1917 egg that was meant for Alexandra never materialised. Some say it was just a design, never crafted. Lucas: After the Revolution, Fabergé himself fled Russia in 1920 and died in exile in Switzerland. The House of Fabergé was nationalized and eventually dissolved. The name was later revived for perfumes and fragrances, but the true artistry died with the Romanovs. Luna: It's almost like the eggs were the last gasp of imperial luxury. After that, everything fell apart. Lucas: Yes. And that's what makes them so poignant. They were made at the height of Romanov power, and they survived its fall. Today, they're scattered around the world — in the Kremlin Armoury in Moscow, in the Fabergé Museum in St. Petersburg, in royal collections in London, in museums in the US. Each one carries a piece of that lost world. Lucas: There's one more detail I love. The 1900 Trans-Siberian Railway Egg, commissioned to commemorate the Trans-Siberian Railway. It has a silver map of the route, and inside is a miniature train with a tiny light. It was a celebration of technology and expansion. But, you know, the Trans-Siberian was also the route that took the Romanovs into exile in 1917. The egg was a promise of a modern Russia that never came. Luna: That's a heavy symbol — a train that was supposed to unify the empire, but ended up carrying the Tsar away. Lucas: Exactly. The Fabergé eggs are full of those layers. They're not just pretty objects. They're history in miniature.