The return of the House of Faberge

2009/9/30 15:14:40
UBO staff report and commentary KYIV, Sept. 30 (UBO) – Most Ukrainians know the Faberge name in association the world famous golden eggs made for the Russian Imperial Court by the Moscow-based House o
Faberge jewelry firm. Long before modern spinmeisters began promoting brand strengthening as an important function, Faberge was strengthening itself into the strongest jewelry brand of its era, in part through the Imperial eggs. However, Faberge’s real business was offering exciting and expensive jewelry baubles to anyone who visited their shops in a number of major cities – including Kyiv and Odesa. The prominence of the House of Faberge ended with the October Revolution, although its famous Imperial eggs still exist in some of the world’s great museums and private collections. Occasionally, pieces of Faberge’s luxury jewelry show up at auctions and on the BBC’s “Antiques Roadshow”. A revival of Faberge as a luxury jewelry brand is underway after several changes of ownership of the name and its use to flog such products as aftershave and cosmetics. The South African mining and investment firm Pallinghurst Resources bought the brand from Unilever in 2007 for an undisclosed sum and says it is now working to bring back the days of Faberge glory. To strengthen the new Faberge, the firm has Tatiana Faberge, the great-grand daughter of the most famous Russian jeweler Peter Carl, very publicly wearing one of the first new pieces of luxury jewelry to bear her family's name since the Revolution. It is unclear whether the new Faberge firm’s plans would include re-establishment of the Faberge shops in Kyiv and Odesa. However, with improvements in the economy, one could imagine Faberge finding new opportunities in Kyiv and, of course, Donetsk. For more on Faberge past, present, and future, you might want to visit the following Internet locations:
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 Re: The return of the House of Faberge
he last day of the story is dated just subsequent to that point in the development of the seasons when country people go to bed among nearly naked trees, are lulled to sleep by a fall of rain, and awake next morning among green ones; when the landscape appears embarrassed with the sudden weight and brilliancy of its leaves; when the night-jar comes and strikes up for the summer his tune of one note; when the apple-trees have bloomed, and the roads and orchard-grass become spotted with fallen petals; when the faces of the delicate flowers are darkened, and their heads weighed down, by the throng of honey-bees, which increase their humming till humming is too mild a term for the all-pervading sound; and when cuckoos, blackbirds, and sparrows, that have hitherto been merry and respectful neighbours, become noisy and persistent intimates.

The exterior of Geoffrey Day’s house in Yalbury Wood appeared exactly as was usual at that season, but a frantic barking of the dogs at the back told of unwonted movements somewhere within. Inside the door the eyes beheld a gathering, which was a rarity indeed for the dwelling of the solitary wood-steward and keeper.

About the room were sitting and standing, in various gnarled attitudes, our old acquaintance, grandfathers James and William, the tranter, Mr. Penny, two or three children, including Jimmy and Charley, besides three or four country ladies and gentlemen from a greater distance who do not require any distinction by name. Geoffrey was seen and heard stamping about the outhouse and among the bushes of the garden, attending to details of daily routine before the proper time arrived for their performance, in order that they might be off his hands for the day. He appeared with his shirt-sleeves rolled up; his best new nether garments, in which he had arrayed himself that morning, being temporarily disguised under a weekday apron whilst these proceedings were in operation. He occasionally glanced at the hives in passing, to see if his wife’s bees were swarming, ultimately rolling down his shirt-sleeves and going indoors, talking to tranter Dewy whilst buttoning the wristbands, to save time; next going upstairs for his best waistcoat, and coming down again to make another remark whilst buttoning that, during the time looking fixedly in the tranter’s face as if he were a looking-glass.