Every acquisition has a story
We Fabergé enthusiasts are a small, but dedicated, international group of curious individuals who belong to a fraternity/sorority of brothers and sisters who get it. We are inexplicably addicted to the fabulous objects of fantasy that comprise Fabergé’s oeuvre. We are a disparate group in many ways. We come from cultures with varying lifestyles and we are separated by many miles, but the tie which binds us is our dedication and appreciation of what is arguably the epitome of decorative art in the late 19th and early 20th century.
The appeal is a tangible link to a time and a world which no longer exists, and ended both abruptly and violently. Sometimes, to us, it seems as if we could peel back a curtain and immerse ourselves in the opulent surroundings of a century ago. We are simply spectators, but as our mind prepares to return to the present, a hand reaches out and snatches an object off a dressing table or a desk. It is small enough to fit in the pocket of our jacket and suddenly we emerge back in the present with our treasure intact. Long ago I gave up trying to explain to friends and family why we do what we do. They either understand and appreciate it, or they do not. And in some cases, it makes no difference how many times I have tried to try to clarify it: “No, I do not actually own any ‘Fabergé Eggs”.
And then there are the stories. After all, every acquisition has a tale associated with it. A few are quite simple and direct: “Yes, I bought this object at Wartski 15 years ago when I was in London”, or “In 2010, the hammer came down at Christie’s and I could not believe I was the high bidder”. In other cases, the hunt is much more complicated, dotted with intrigue and uncertainty. The thrill of the experience lies with the competition and the camaraderie, more often than not within our own ranks!
Education is the ultimate achievement here, however. The excitement of finding out a new tidbit of information and adding a provenance detail to an object that has been yours for a while is wonderful, especially if you find your bell push or cigarette case in an old auction catalog. Perhaps some new document is unearthed in the St. Petersburg archives indicating when your photo frame was originally purchased and by whom. Regardless of the source, there is great satisfaction in advancing the knowledge and understanding of both the object, and its time and place in history.
I had one such enlightening experience a few years ago after I had purchased in 2008 a lovely little mauve-enameled stamp moistener from a small auction house in the UK. It is a typically well-executed, gold-mounted, and pear-shaped object from the Henrik Wigström workshop, and was a good fit for my collection. A few years later, a gold-mounted stamp moistener in pale-green enamel was purchased by my friend John Atzbach, who mentioned it was very similar to the one I already owned. When he forwarded me some photographs, I realized the find was nearly identical in composition.
John Atzbach’s later find on the left, alongside the mauve stamp moistener from my collection.
After inquiring about a stock number on the object, he provided me with that as well. It turned out the two pieces were numbered sequentially, 12600 – 12601.
The attraction was irresistible to me. Despite trying to maintain a tight budget and choosing pieces carefully to add variety to my collection, the thought of reuniting these two fine objects, which had been separated for over 100 years and countless miles, was just too compelling. So now they are back together again, as I imagine they were at one time sitting on a bench in Wigström’s workshop. Ironically, the third number (12602) in that sequence belongs to their triplet illustrated in Habsburg, Géza von. Fabergé in America, 1996, p. 294, illustration 329.
