The gold mask which covered the head of King
Tutankhamun is one of the most familiar of Egyptian icons. The most
moving reproduction of the mask is this photograph, less familiar
than those which show it after it was cleaned. This was the first
record of the mask, taken when it was uncovered by Howard Carter in
the king's tomb in the Valley of the Kings. The dust and the
remains of the garlands which were placed in the king's coffin give
this image a living, deeply moving quality.
But the noblest of all the representations of Tutankhamun, which
emphasises his divinity and the majesty of his office, is the
immense gold mask which was placed over the head of his mummy, in
the innermost of the coffins; after the Pyramids it is perhaps the
most universally reproduced of all Egyptian artifacts. This is not
the portrait of a slender boy but of a god-king, living for ever
and ever. Few photographs do the mask justice: gold is a difficult
material to photograph without it assuming the consistency of
brass. The most successful is perhaps the first to be taken, by
Harry Burton, the American photographer who was present in the tomb
from the time of its opening.
In Burton's photograph the mask appears still wreathed with the
garlands which were laid around it more than three thousand years
before. The presence of the flowers and the little smudges of dust
which Burton and Carter did not remove, to avoid destroying the
garlands, give the mask an extraordinary living presence.
When cleaned and cleared of the scattering of flowers the mask
is magnificent, a triumph, if not of high art, then certainly of
the highest craftsmanship. But it is clearly an artifact whereas,
in Burton's photograph, the king lives.
The impact of the discovery of Tutankhamun can perhaps best be
appreciated by comparing the finding of his tomb with the
near-contemporary excavation of the Royal Tombs at the Sumerian
city of Ur by Sir Leonard Woolley. For barbaric splendour combined
with grand guignol, the great death pits at Ur should totally have
eclipsed Tutankhamun, yet they did not do so.
Woolley found a number of burials, sunk deep in what was
evidently a royal or sacred burial site, on the outskirts of Ur,
one of the most important of Sumer's city-states. The burials were
much earlier than Tutankhamun's, c. 2600 BC, and thus earlier even
than the Giza Pyramids. Altogether Woolley found sixteen burials
which he believed were of royal personages. In the stone-lined
vaults, deep in the earth, were found the remains of highstatus
burials, attended by the most elaborate panoply of death. The
principal occupants of the tomb were attended by ranks of
courtiers, musicians, soldiers, wagoners (with their wagons and the
oxen which drew them) all neatly laid out, for a carefully
organised ceremony of death.
The artifacts which were buried with them were of the most
superb craftsmanship, elegant, austere but at the same time
extremely rich in material and adornment. They are, it must be
said, very un-Sumerian in design and craftsmanship.
Unlike the excavation of Tutankhamun's tomb, which has never
been professionally published, Woolley unleashed a stream of
sumptuous and detailed reports on his excavations, supported by
many popular publications. 7 Yet for every thousand people who know
the name Tutankhamun there may be one who recognises Ur and its
royal burials, even when it carries its biblical ascription `of the
Chaldees' with its putative connection with Abraham, the Friend of
God.
The reason for the lesser impact of the Royal Tombs of Ur is
that they were not redolent of the archetypes in the way in which
the tomb of Tutankhamun was so liberally provided. Sumer, despite
the fact that it is probably the culture in which writing evolved
into something more than a simple device for the convenience of
accountants, has never caught the world's imagination in the way in
which Egypt has done. Waiting in his tomb for three thousand two
hundred years, Tutankhamun was the heir to all the immense
accumulation of wonder and respect which Egypt had engendered and,
in his own person, was to be identified as an archetypal figure
such as only Egypt could apparently produce.
Tutankhamun was the last lineal descendant of Ahmose, who had
founded the Eighteenth Dynasty more than two hundred years earlier.
What has been interpreted as the marks of a blow behind his ear and
a displaced piece of bone, possibly dislodged from the interior of
his skull, have prompted suggestions that he was murdered. He left
no heir though two female foetuses were found in his tomb, perhaps
his children who had been born prematurely. He had married a
daughter of Akhenaten, Ankhesena'amun, whose name had been changed
from Ankhesenpa'aten. She brings her own small element of tragedy
to the decline of the Thutmosid house. Evidently bereft at the
death of Tutankhamun, for they are often depicted, like two flower
children, charmingly engaged in simple pleasures (and she it was
who scattered flowers in his tomb), she appealed to the great King
of the Hittites, Suppiluliumas, to send her one of his sons, that
he might become King of Egypt. That such a message was sent at all
is a measure both of the desperation of Ankhesena'amun and those
around her and of the state of Egypt. Suppiluliumas agreed and
despatched his son Zennanza with a suitable escort south to Egypt.
He never reached Ankhesena'amun for he was murdered on the way. Of
Ankhesena'amun, nothing more is ever heard.
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