Archaeology Magazine - March/April 1986 - 62

from the modern pavement. Museums filled with
pharaonic treasures seem to be everywhere. And if
not for over two million stones at 2.5 tons each, it is
possible that even a pyramid might have been hauled
away as plunder.

a
coveting the riches of ancient Egypt, we have
robbed knowledge as well as a nation. Much of what
archaeologists would like to study in situ has been
scattered across the globe. The material record of
Egypt's past has been disturbed and, therefore, its
history either distorted or destroyed.
Imagine Herodotus centuries hence as he tries
to survey the art and architecture of pharaonic
Egypt. Would he assume, as the evidence will suggest, that even Europe and America were conquered
and colonized by the troops of a Tutankhamun? As
silly as this may sound, the effects of Egyptomania
have already posed the problem.
Consider the case of Cecil B. deMille and his
1923 epic film The Ten Commandments. While
Howard Carter and his crew were exploring King
Tut's tomb in Egypt, deMille and his crew were exploiting Egyptomania on their stage-set in California. Before his death in 1959, the move mogul
(no doubt- with a wry smile) wrote something very
interesting about archaeology and his own efforts
to "recover" Egyptian history: "If, a thousand
years from now, archaeologists happen to dig beneath
the sands of Guadalupe, I hope that they will not
rush into print with the amazing news that Egyptian
civilization, far from being confined to the valley
of the Nile, extended all the way to the Pacific Coast
of North America."
Here is deMille on the dangers of Egyptomania,
stirred not by real artifacts in American museums
but by his own buried movie props. Unfortunately,
his sense of humor has not been passed on by way
of this passage. Instead, his words have inspired a
group of movie buffs to excavate the buried stageset! Now, no one is confusing these props with a
real pharaonic city, but there is nevertheless something unsettling about the whole affair. While so
much of historical significance remains to be explored and preserved in Tbt's Egypt, here are archaeologists expending vast amounts of money and
energy to excavate deMille's imaginary Egypt. Is
there more to be learned from 63-year-old imitations
than from 3,000-year-old originals? I think, perhaps,
that our perceptions and priorities have indeed been
distorted, although not quite in the way deMille
prophesied. For whatever purpose, the Nile itself
must never be neglected in the scramble for scarce
excavation funds. Even Moses would not call down
upon Pharaoh a plague so bad as this!
Egyptian archaeology ought to be the principal
beneficiary of modern Egyptomania, but it is not.
At this very moment, funds for United States excavations are vanishing. A public willing to spend
millions on the parade of King Tut's treasures across
America seems impatient with the slow pace and
leaner prospects of current archaeological work
abroad. Perhaps making the find of the century in
62

ARCHAEOLOGY

1922 is like painting one's masterpiece at the age of
12- no matter what of merit comes afterward, the
world will be disappointed. Ignoring the 10,000
antiquities sites now in Egypt is a high price to pay
for plaster props or the inflated hype of one spectacular tomb.
Oddly enough, Egyptomania has even obscured
Hitankhamun from his adoring fans. Not many
hear about the troubled times in which T'it reigned,
the ominous power of his adviser-turned-successor,
or the gutsy effort of young Tbt's widow to secure a
new husband-protector from among the sons of a
Hittite king. For most, it is not Tut, but his treasures that matter. In fact, within a few months of
the tomb's discovery by Howard Carter, New York
newspapers were already reporting their influence
on Fifth Avenue fashions, as well as a brisk trade in
fake tomb artifacts. A similar sensation was soon
apparent in other fashion capitals. The World, for
example, published a flashy photograph of "King
Hit's Queen" with this caption: "Mile. Lucette
Darbelle astonished Parisians by appearing thus at
a fancy dress ball in a mummy's sarcophagus borne
by four dusky Egyptians." (Sunday, March 25, 1923).
Astonished indeed! I can't imagine what Ankhessenamun, the bold widow of Tut, would think of this
dainty modern rival.
VÉ

Matters have only grown worse. "Tlitmoneya"
has given us coloring books, needlepoint patterns,
leather goods, perfumes, teas, cookie tins, games,
movies, television shows, hit songs about King T'it
sleeping "in his jammies," and enough other merchandise to fill the tomb ten times over with cash
register receipts. But most of all, Egyptomaniacs
have bought a very odd modern product- the now
legendary "Curse of King Tut's tomb."
If only this fabrication could forever lie buried
beside that other in Guadalupe! The curse, the
fashions, the fake artifacts, and the 1923 stage-set
are all products of the same period and the same
passion for a hocus-pocus past. Even before the
death of Lord Carnarvon, who financed and supervised the opening of Tbt's grave, the world press
openly anticipated some strange revenge from the
ghostly guardians of the pharaoh's rest. When
Carnarvon died in April 1923 from an infected insect
bite, an alarm went out all over the world and everyone waited and watched to see who would be the next.
The death count still continues to this day.
Many people are apparently amazed that nearly
every adult associated with the excavation has died
in the 63 years since the opening of the tomb. When
one alleged expedition member was merely injured
in a traffic accident in 1970, the event was noted by
the London Times under the title "A Pharaoh's
Curse." Exciting as it may be to attribute such awe-

Archaeology Magazine - March/April 1986

Table of Contents for the Digital Edition of Archaeology Magazine - March/April 1986