Easter Eggs for an Emperor

Яйца Фаберже

  With Easter so near, I thought it would be nice to post these images of Faberge eggs.

 The intricate work in these tiny masterpieces just amazes me! 

 There were thousands made in his workshops between the years of 1855 and 1917.

 Most often these exquisite eggs were given as gifts at Easter.

 The most famous—and largest—were the 50 or so imperial eggs made
for the Tsar and his family.

Only 42 of those beautiful eggs have survived.

 The last of them, Constellation, was left unfinished. 

 That year, 1917, the Tsar and his entire family were taken prisoner
and in 1918 were massacred.

 I have seen several of these at the New Orleans Museum of Fine Arts.  

 It would be nice to have just one on the table on Easter morning, wouldn't it?

  This is what I would choose!

The Lilies of the Valley egg (1898) [at the top] is a translucent pink-enameled treasure covered with gold-stemmed flowers made of pearls, diamonds and rubies. One flower, when turned, releases a geared mechanism inside to raise the fan of tiny miniatures from the top – portraits of the Czar and his first two daughters, Olga and Tatiana. Every spring, Alexandra had the rooms of the palaces filled with beautiful floral bouquets. Fabergé knew that pink was the favorite color of the Empress, and lilies of the valley her favorite flower.

Basket of Flowers (1901) [at the bottom] is owned by Queen Elizabeth II.
You can read about it here. 
 

Happy Easter!

Keeping It Simple

Several year ago, a friend of mine posed a query to me. It is one I occasionally find myself reconsidering, especially during those moments when life is anything but simple. 

You are to be left alone on a deserted island for the span of six months. You may bring only the following with you:

• One book
• A portable CD player, batteries for 6 months, and one CD
• One image (photograph or painting, etc.)
• A favorite piece of clothing or favorite outfit
• One personal luxury item (e.g., cologne, pen, comb, shampoo, etc.)
• One practical item (flashlight, matches, blanket, etc.)
• A case of one beverage
• A case of one food item

Neither the luxury item nor the practical item can be electronic. Under no circumstances can you leave the island until the six months have passed. What are your choices? 

Over time, a few of my choices have varied, while others remain immutable.
I find that oddly comforting. 

The Same Moon

 I was a weekened guest in a vast house that was perched on a hill overlooking the ocean. Because of its steep bluffs and proximity to the sea, the small coastal village is simply called "The Hill" by locals and visitors alike.  Unable to sleep, I crept upstairs to sit on the sleeping porch, listening contentedly as the sea washed sonorously against the nearby shore. 


The house was filled with books and as I passed through the library I chose several to look through with the hope that I might grow sleepy.  Settling down in one of the large chairs, I opened one of the books—a gilt-edged biography of Dante Gabriel Rosetti, one of my favorite painters—and a folded sheet slipped from its pages onto my lap.  

With some trepidation—and a few glances over my shoulder—I opened the paper and saw that it was a letter, written on stationery from University College-Oxford. It was dated "Monday—May 30th" and although there was no year given, it was yellowed with age and dog-eared with frequent readings, convincing me these words had been penned many, many years ago.  The sender had used only initials so there was no way of knowing to whom—or from whom—it had been sent.  It was a brief note, written on only one side of the vellum sheet.  I settled back to read it, the stillness interrupted occasionally by the wash of waves against the nearby shoreline. 

"A glorious sunny weekend here has inevitably turned my thoughts to you and the Hill.  I thought of you particularly last night seeing the marvelous moon here, which must be sparkling and gleaming on the sea there.  It is marvelous how much the mind retains of things it loves and how easily they can be evoked.  How much richer is life for this!"   

I folded the old paper and placed it back amongst the pages of the book. How strange to find this letter from Oxford, written by a distant friend, or perhaps a brother or lover. I tried to imagine where he might have been as he watched the moon rise. By the River Cherwell, perhaps, seeing her lift above the tree branches? Or standing by the Bridge of Sighs, watching her passage over a network of college spires?  Wherever he was, he knew that in a matter of hours the same moon would be making its way to the sea-washed shores of the New England beach town he loved. 

And here was I, only just returned from Oxford myself... sitting in the dark on the verandah of that same house, watching the moon as it glistened on that same briny sea. And the happy-go-lucky author of that letter, written and posted so long ago, would never know how touching and evocative his words would seem to a complete stranger many years later. 

Moments here and there

Last Saturday I awoke to the sound of birds singing in the hemlock tree.  As breakfast was cooking I took my cup of tea and wandered around the garden in my nightdress, seeing what had grown or poked through the soil since the day before, marveling at all the beautiful shades of green as everything slowly comes to life, and planning in my head all the Spring tasks I'm longing to get to:  

• flowers to dig up and move to another part of the garden
• seeds to start for pots along the stairway 
• window boxes to fill by the trellises near the side door
• pea gravel to replenish all the garden paths
• setting up the rain barrel and cleaning out the birdbath
  

Later in the afternoon I took a walk and then knitted for awhile.  Before the day ended I wrote a few cards and notes to far away friends. And as I busied myself with these random activities throughout the day, it occurred to me how important it is to be touched by these transitory moments, as simple as they might be, and to be aware of them as they're happening. 

Carry on.