The Curse of Tutankhamun: The True Story Behind the Myth

When Howard Carter opened Tutankhamun's tomb in 1922, he uncovered the archaeological find of the century. A few months later the man who had paid for the dig was dead — and the world decided the pharaoh had taken his revenge. The "curse of the pharaohs" is one of the most famous stories ever told about Ancient Egypt. Almost none of it is true, and that is exactly what makes it so fascinating.

The death that started it all

On 5 April 1923, just months after the tomb was opened, Lord Carnarvon — the English aristocrat funding Carter — died at the Continental-Savoy hotel in Cairo. The cause was blood poisoning: he had nicked an infected mosquito bite while shaving, and the infection turned into pneumonia.

The press did the rest. It was reported that at the moment of his death the lights went out across Cairo (power cuts were, in fact, routine in the city). It was said that back at his English estate his dog howled and dropped dead at the same hour. To the newspapers of 1923, hungry for drama after the Great War, the conclusion was irresistible: Tutankhamun was punishing those who had disturbed his rest.

The inscription that never existed

At the heart of the myth is a supposed warning carved in the tomb: "Death shall come on swift wings to him who disturbs the peace of the king."

It does not exist. There is no curse inscription anywhere in Tutankhamun's tomb. The line was invented or embellished by the 1920s press. The closest thing to a "magic text" in the chamber was a protective — not threatening — formula on a ritual brick beside the Anubis shrine: a standard spell to protect the dead from the desert and from intruders, of the kind found in thousands of Egyptian burials. The Egyptians did not curse future tourists; they protected the dead.

The tally of deaths

Over the years, the legend kept adding victims. Among those usually cited:

• George Jay Gould, an American millionaire who visited the tomb and died of pneumonia soon after.
• Sir Archibald Douglas-Reid, the radiologist due to X-ray the mummy, who died before he could.
• Aubrey Herbert, Carnarvon's half-brother, dead the same year.
• And, decade after decade, anyone vaguely connected to the dig whose death could be pinned on the pharaoh.

It is an old narrative trick: gather dozens of people and wait enough years, and there will always be deaths to count. The legend looks only at those who died, never at those who didn't.

What the facts say

The most devastating argument against the curse is Howard Carter himself. Nobody spent more time inside the tomb, handled more objects, or was more exposed. He died in 1939, sixteen years after the opening, of lymphoma, aged 64. Lady Evelyn Herbert, Carnarvon's daughter and one of the very first people to enter, lived until 1980. Dr Douglas Derry, who performed the autopsy on the mummy, reached old age.

In 2002, a study published in the British Medical Journal analysed the Westerners present in Egypt during the dig. Its conclusion: there was no significant difference in age at death between those "exposed" to the tomb and those who were not. Statistically, opening Tutankhamun's tomb shortened nobody's life.

What if something was in the air?

A more modern — and more cautious — version replaces the supernatural with microbiology. Tombs sealed for millennia can harbour moulds and spores (such as Aspergillus) or accumulated toxic gases, capable of causing respiratory infections in anyone who opens them unprotected.

It is real, but it does not rescue the curse: Tutankhamun's tomb was well ventilated by the time the team went in, and Carnarvon's death had a perfectly earthly, documented cause. The idea explains why the legend sounds plausible rather than proving it true.

Why the story refuses to die

The "curse" had every ingredient needed to become immortal: a dazzling treasure, a dead aristocrat, an exotic boy-king, and a press eager to sell it. The ground had been prepared for decades, too: Victorian novels of vengeful mummies and museum legends of "cursed" objects had already trained the public to expect punishment from Ancient Egypt.

More than a century on, the curse of Tutankhamun is still alive — not as a story about Egypt, but as a story about us: about how much we prefer a good legend to a mosquito bite.

Where to get close to the story in Cairo

Tutankhamun's complete treasure — gold mask included — is now displayed at the Grand Egyptian Museum beside the Giza pyramids. The royal mummies rest at the National Museum of Egyptian Civilization (NMEC) in Fustat. Seeing those 3,000-year-old faces up close is the best way to understand why the West found it so easy to believe in curses.