by Patrick Hunt
The tomb and sarcophagus are the richest to have survived from Egypt, possibly anywhere
No one has yet been able to give an exact value of the wealth in Tutankhamun’s tomb. The estimates must run in astronomical figures because of the materials used and their quantity, but we can try to understand this value by comparing Tut’s tomb to today’s standards. For gold alone, some economic historians have attempted to add up the inner solid gold coffin, the amazing objects like solid gold sandals, the gilded shrines and the hundreds of objects like shoulder pectoral collars, rings, necklaces, statuettes, scepters and myriad other pieces of jewelry, not even counting the religious paraphernalia. To evaluate it we’d need to separate the intrinsic from extrinsic value—impossible at the outset—but we can at least look at a few tangible components of that wealth.
An extremely conservative estimate of the gold in Tut’s tomb must start somewhere around 2,500 pounds of very pure gold (his inner coffin alone would probably weigh at least 2,000 pounds). Gold is usually weighed in troy ounces and there are 14.6 troy ounces to a normal (avoirdupois) pound. If gold in 2007 is worth an inflated $650 an ounce (that is, a troy ounce) and there are 14.6 troy ounces in a normal pound, then the net value of gold alone in Tut’s tomb would currently be worth somewhere around $23.7 million (650 times 14.6 times 2,500), using current gold bullion market standards. We must remember this is a very conservative estimate based on raw gold bullion value alone. We add in inflation today when we calculate the value of gold, but in antiquity gold prices better reflected the scarcity of this rare and extremely precious metal.
Fort Knox, the U.S. federal treasury repository for gold, does not actually verify its listed total gold reserves, but we can assume it is listed somewhere as around 9 million pounds. Without factoring in historic perspectives, this Fort Knox volume may make King Tut’s gold seem paltry, since until recent times gold in individual circulation usually exceeded any national treasury unless there were sumptuary laws prohibiting commoners to own gold (which was frequently the case). In reality, by comparing the smaller volume of gold available in antiquity than today, Tut’s tomb represents a larger fraction of the gold in circulation in Egypt and the world around 1323 BC, especially given that Egypt was the land of gold in the eyes of the ancient world and gold was religiously symbolic of the flesh of the gods. The pure gold circulating in the ancient world at that time was less than 25 percent of today’s volume, because much more gold has been mined since 1325 BC and gold mining techniques have advanced in these subsequent thousands of years. All these calculations suggest that the gold in Tut’s tomb would have been far more precious in 1323 BC than today because it was a much scarcer entity even in Egypt, the Land of Gold.
Of course, the arbitrary value assigned to Tut’s tomb gold doesn’t even count the other precious materials (for example, silver, carnelian, lapis lazuli, turquoise, ivory, alabaster, diorite porphyry and other hard stones, ebony wood and so on), nor does it count the extrinsic value of the highest royal craftsmanship or the priceless value of intact and beautifully crafted antiquities themselves thousands of years old. Even a genuine but rather ordinary clay pot from this Egyptian Eighteenth Dynasty period would fetch thousands of dollars at antiquities auction prices. Any inventory of other objects from Tut’s tomb would be even more inflated in value just because the source was Tut’s tomb (of course, none of these Tutankhamun items are for sale anyway so it’s a specious argument). But the only conclusion we can arrive at about the astonishing economic value of Tut’s tomb is absolute pricelessness. No wonder that traveling exhibitions of even small portions of King Tut’s tomb collection have to be insured to the hilt.
Whatever else we could say about the treasure in Tut’s tomb, it provides our first and only material basis for a measure of pharaonic wealth. If Tut was a poor minor pharaoh who ruled for only a few years in the New Kingdom, we can only imagine how much personal wealth powerful rulers like Rameses II or Thutmose could have accrued. In the case of Rameses, it would likely be even more staggering because he ruled for fifty-five years. In this one aspect and in so many other ways, Tut’s tomb has opened our eyes to a whole new understanding of the god-kings of Egypt and their fabulous wealth. No wonder either that nearly all the other tombs were robbed so often by their successors, given the treasures that were simply waiting to be taken with little to no resistance. Most of the law-abiding Egyptians appear to have believed that if they robbed the graves and the death penalty didn’t get them in this life, the religious penalties and eternal retribution would catch them in the next life. It seems the pharaohs themselves worried little about either penalty, but instead relied on magic from their priests, on amulets like their heart scarabs, along with the armies they controlled, to protect them.
Howard Carter’s earlier failures made the dramatic discovery more rewarding
Before 1922 Howard Carter’s life was a series of ups and downs, and he was greatly frustrated over the elusive tomb he sought. The previous six years had turned up nothing but dust. That he was well prepared for his task was certain, but his luck had not always been dependable.
Howard Carter (1874-1939) trained as an artist and draftsman before coming under the lure of Egyptology. Carter first went to Egypt in 1891, at age eighteen, where he was personally under the tutelage of the greatest British archaeologist of his day, William Matthew Flinders Petrie (1853-1942), often said to be the “Father of Modern Egyptology” and later knighted in 1923. Because Petrie had an extensive background in civil engineering survey techniques from his father, a surveyor (although his grandfather was a famous explorer and sea captain), Carter learned much from Petrie about combining the accurate eye of the artist with the quantitative measurements of an engineer. Carter rapidly rose to secure an expatriate position through the Egypt Exploration Fund and became a chief inspector for the Egyptian Antiquities Service at a time when the British controlled much of Egypt’s administration. He even excavated Thutmose IV’s tomb in 1903 in the Valley of the Kings, so he knew it as well as anyone. But in 1905 Carter had a run-in with French tourists and it ended disastrously, with a forced resignation and humiliating years of living hand to mouth while pursuing his passion for Egyptology. Working as a guide and freelance archaeologist, Carter met George Herbert, Lord Carnarvon, who was convalescing in Egypt. Carnarvon shared Carter’s passion for Egypt and soon became his sponsor. During World War I, when few archaeologists were working in Egypt, Lord Carnarvon obtained an excavation permit in 1917 through his ample British connections. This permit, for a project in the Valley of the Kings, allowed him to underwrite Carter’s first search for Tut’s tomb. It was a bleak six years as Carter, despite his good training, scoured the valley floor back and forth with many anguishing false starts.
Lord Carnarvon was going to pull the plug on fruitless funding when Carter persuaded him to fund one last season. Carter arrived back in Egypt on October 28, 1922, and was hard at work trying to end his archaeological drought. Everything changed on November 4. Carter had instructed his workers to go back to a spot they had previously examined without much attention since it was covered by workers’ huts for a later and grander tomb, that of Rameses VI of the Twentieth Dynasty. On this day, only four days into the dig, to the growing excitement of Carter, his workers quickly took down the mud brick huts’ haphazard foundations and soon found the first step leading to a hidden sunken doorway just off the valley floor in an unimposing corner. Carter immediately noticed that this doorway was not on any maps or archived site plans, and he instructed his workers to continue at a feverish pace, uncovering the full rock-cut passage within a few days down to the twelfth step in the rock. He now knew it had to be a tomb, and a previously unknown one at that. He desperately hoped it would be intact, which would be a miracle, or at least sufficiently covered with inscriptions to prove its owner. The priestly seals he found proved it was a tomb for a high personage, possibly even a royal tomb.
In the interim, on November 6, Carter had contacted
Lord Carnarvon back in England and impatiently waited for the ship and his sponsor. When Lord Carnarvon landed in Alexandria on November 23, they hastily returned to Luxor and the Valley of the Kings. Together they oversaw the full excavation of the first door down to the sixteenth step. Now riveted at the fully exposed doorway, frantically whispering aloud as he traced the dusty hieroglyphs, this exact moment when Howard Carter discovered that this was the tomb of King Tut must go down in archaeology as the one of the most exciting events in our discipline. That Carter had spent blistering decades pondering and searching for this one tomb as his young life withered away under the merciless Egyptian sun made it all the more rewarding. This drama quickly unfolded a few days later during the most important day of his life when, after all the delaying passage-filling rubble and debris left behind the first door was removed, Carter and Lord Carnarvon finally arrived at the second door. With trembling hands and wildly thumping heart Carter poked through a corner in the dim light to peer into the darkness within. This is the moment of truth for an archaeologist, when time becomes eternity. In Howard Carter’s own words, written in 1923, we can read his memory of November 26, 1922:
The decisive moment had arrived. With trembling hands I made a tiny breach in the upper left-hand corner. Darkness and blank space, as far as the iron testing rod could reach, showed that whatever lay beyond was empty and not filled like the passage we had just cleared. Candle tests were applied as a precaution against possible gases, and then, widening the hole a little, I inserted the candle and peered in . . . At first I could see nothing, the hot air escaping from the chamber causing the candle flame to flicker, but presently, as my eyes grew accustomed to the light, details of the room within emerged slowly from the mist, strange animals, statues, and gold—everywhere the glint of gold. For a moment—an eternity it must have seemed to the others standing by—I was struck dumb with amazement, and when Lord Carnarvon, unable to stand the suspense any longer, inquired anxiously, “Can you see anything?” it was all I could do to get out the words, “Yes, wonderful things.”
The gleam of gold reflected everywhere in the light must have nearly stopped Howard Carter’s heart as he croaked out the dusty words that have become the most famous in archaeology. The dense complexity of the treasures within took ten years to fully excavate and even longer to inventory. They are still being studied in 2007 and will be for years to come.
Tut ’s tomb riches fill an entire wing of the Egyptian Museum
Visiting the Egyptian Museum in Cairo is an unforgettable experience. While it is not always comfortable (especially when there is no air conditioning—or air circulation—and the outside temperature is like a furnace), this does little to erode the visitor’s amazement over King Tut’s treasures, which fill an entire wing of the museum’s extensive collection of antiquities. Consider that the objects on display, however poorly lit and crammed into cases, are only part of the total volume of materials Carter and Lord Carnarvon, among others, removed from the tomb over a ten-year period.
More Tut materials are stored in the basement vaults, and one can see in the museum that the objects that travel in exhibitions make up only a tiny fraction of the whole Tut collection. If the materials from Tut’s tomb were displayed according to the less-crowded standards of European or American museums, they would nearly fill an entire museum of a large city.
Tut ’s traveling exhibitions have drawn more visitors than any other museum event
From 1976 to 1979, a blockbuster traveling King Tut exhibition across seven cities in the United States drew over 8 million visitors, not even counting schoolchildren and many free tickets. In 2005, twenty-six years later, a much smaller exhibition drew over 300,000 advance ticket buyers in Los Angeles alone and an expected revenue of over $100 million throughout the tour. An article in the Los Angeles Times (May 22, 2005) recorded that this same Tut traveling exhibition was seen by 620,000 people in Basel in 2004 and later by 870,000 at the Art and Exhibition Hall in Bonn, Germany.
A significant portion of the 2004-5 Tut traveling exhibition earnings are earmarked for conservation of the Egyptian Museum in Cairo, and archaeology officials in Egypt are expecting to receive around $7.7 million from each of its European cities. Egypt required a ticket sale guarantee of $6 million from each U.S. city before even committing to the exhibition, and these proceeds are to be used for reinvigorating modern archaeology in Egypt. In all the clamor of publicity and inevitable long lines at many traveling exhibitions, one thing is certain: Tut has been outdrawing all other popular draws, including the impressionists and other great masters. A much-acclaimed 1999 Van Gogh exhibition in Los Angeles drew 821,000 visitors, and was considered a blockbuster; in comparison, a large display of Tut objects drew over 1,250,000 visitors in 1978, and a much smaller group of Tut objects drew at least a million visitors in 2005.
Tut’s tomb has stimulated Egyptomania more than anything else from Egypt has
While popular interest in Tut has never claimed to be academic, Egyptomania since the discovery of Tut has flourished. Terry Garcia, an executive of the National Geographic Society, says that the society has had a strong focus on Egypt for over a century. “The number one topic we have published in all these years has been Egypt, more than any of the ones we’ve done work on in 116 years of our existence,” Garcia stated at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art during the 2005 Tut exhibit.
In 1963, Elizabeth Taylor starred in the mega box office epic Cleopatra, which has since been billed as “the film that changed Hollywood.” But the popularity and impact of this memorable film itself grew on the earlier media sensation of Howard Carter’s 1922 discovery. Tut’s popularity continues in the media today, including silly cinema burlesques or caricatures of archaeology such as the Tomb Raider movies (2001, 2003) and the Mummy movies (1999, 2001). Modern viewers either forget or never knew that these remakes owe much to classics like Boris Karloff’s The Mummy (1932), its timing directly spawned by Carter’s discovery. Perhaps the most endearing spoof of Tut comes from the wonderful Belgian classic comic hero Tintin in Hergé’s Cigars of the Pharaoh (Les Cigares du Pharaon) released in 1934, again a direct response to the lionizing of Howard Carter’s excavation in the Valley of the Kings. Some slyly suggest that Egyptology is merely an educated person’s Egyptomania, but it might just as easily be said that Egyptology is professional Egyptomania.
Millions of people worldwide instantly recognize Tut ’s golden death mask
That one of the most recognizable icons of the twentieth century is Tut’s familiar golden death mask, with its blue and gold stripes across the headdress, speaks volumes for Tut’s influence. A pair of obsidian eyes lined in jeweled imitation kohl track the viewer everywhere. These riveting eyes are set in a face reflecting a fabulous golden light around an imperturbable mouth that wears the weight of divine kingship, neither smiling or frowning but merely acknowledging the outside world. Its association with death makes it even more widely popular, as it fuses several fascinations or taboos. This is a remarkable visage, given that its owner never reached the ripe old age of nineteen.
Tut’s golden death mask is a perfect popular vehicle for condensing information about archaeology and ancient history. Icons like this help museums to secure more public sponsorship for curation and research in ancient history. Since early education in childhood prepares the general public for later willingness to underwrite such museum sponsorship, even schoolchildren need images like Tut’s mask that conjure up the past. Many archaeologists outside Egyptology often refer to popular fascination with King Tut as “Tutmania” and the “Tut Glut,” usually more sarcastically than fondly. Yet the fact remains that archaeology requires constant public support; it is a discipline dependent on sometimes tedious and repetitive quantitative analytical methods and therefore is an expensive field of study in constant need of funding. So we professional archaeologists should not bite the hand that feeds us. If the public wants more information on Tut, this will in turn cross-fertilize other a
rchaeology and help maintain general research. Tut’s iconic golden face has singlehandedly done a lot for archaeology.
The mystery surrounding Tut ’s death continues to invite enormous speculation
He reigned for a very short time, possibly only five to nine years, but speculation about King Tut’s death has been rampant since the original X-rays seemed to show head fractures and bone splinters at the back of his skull. In his well-written 1998 book, The Murder of King Tutankhamen: A True Story, Bob Brier of Long Island University describes Tut’s death as murder, and he carefully sets out the likely motives, culprits and methods like a forensic CSI detective. However, recent CAT scans (made in 2005) have greatly modified some of these suggested traumas. Funded in part by the National Geographic Society and Siemens Medical Solutions of Germany, using state-of-the-art analytical instruments, the noninvasive imaging involved up to 1,700 images, even though not all scholars agree they are definitive. From these CAT scans, we can see that Tut’s skeleton appears to show a very bad leg fracture, which may have gone septic into a fatal infection, as was common in antiquity from wounds and infections.