The Face That Rules Berlin

Text and Photos by Ino Manalo

When one visits Paris, one must go to see the Mona Lisa. In Berlin, it is the bust of Nefertiti, Queen of Egypt. For who can forget that neck more slender than a whisper? Who can forget that face that reminds us that beauty must always be without apology? Hers is indeed a countenance that has enslaved thousands, that has held a city, perhaps even the world, in thrall.

At the time of my visit, Nefertiti was still residing in the Altes Museum. I found her inside a glass case in a room of modest proportions. To my surprise one could actually take pictures of the bust of the great queen. Many tourists were eagerly posing with the famous icon in the background. My companions and I happily waited our turn.

Later on, I took a few moments to examine Nefertiti more carefully. In Jose Rizal’s El Filibusterismo, there is a scene where the audience watches a carnival act involving a magical Egyptian head. At the command of “Deremof!”, the head comes to life, revealing dark mysteries. Was I expecting Nefertiti’s bust to do the same?

The controversial American writer, Camille Paglia, has noted that the ancient monarch’s statue is often shown sideways perhaps to hide the fact that its eyes are mismatched. Only one side has had a rock crystal inserted to suggest the iris. Paglia theorizes that this evokes a bizarre duality which is invariably suppressed since it goes against Western notions of beauty.

No one can account with certainty for this asymmetry. Since the bust was found by a German archaeological expedition in the remains of the workshop of the sculptor Thutmose, it is possible that the piece was still unfinished, not yet ready for delivery. Or perhaps a small detail was deliberately left out so as not to appear too boastful, too capable of perfection? In the same way, I am told, some weavers will purposely retain a loose thread so that their fabrics will not draw the ire of the heavens.

It has also been suggested that Nefertiti was deliberately defaced. In Ancient Egypt it was believed that chiseling out the eye of a rival’s image resulted in the obliteration of her or his legacy. Did Nefertiti have enemies? Was she whose name means “Beauty has come” capable of arousing such anger that revenge would be sought not only in this life but in the next?

Perhaps so. For Nefertiti lived in tumultuous times. Her husband was the Pharaoh Akhenaten who was originally known as Amenhotep. It was, in fact, the reason behind this change in name which was the root of all the trouble. Akhenaten was enamored with Aten who he worshipped as the golden disc of the sun. He restyled himself in honor of his chosen God. Aside from insisting that Aten would supersede the other deities of the land, Akhenaten moved the capital away from Thebes, away from what had been, for countless centuries, the seat of the Pharaohs. He founded a new city and built temples in a site that is now known as Amarna.

All these innovations would create problems among those who had previously benefited from the status quo. Organized religions will fiercely defend their privileges. The priests and devotees of the other gods were not happy with the Pharaoh’s new ideas. After Akhenaten’s death what he had built up would crumble. Campaigns were launched to erase the quixotic Pharaoh from history and soon the desert dunes would cover up whatever else remained.

Yet Akhenaten would not be doomed to oblivion forever. By a strange twist of faith, the historical obliteration that the Pharaoh suffered would have an unforeseeable outcome. It would ensure that his main heir’s tomb would be forgotten and consequently safeguarded by its obscurity. Future generations would be unaware of the very existence of Akhenaten’s son. Unsought, his final resting place would never be looted unlike those of the more famous rulers. It would remain undisturbed for millennia, awaiting rediscovery in the twentieth century. Though its occupant only reigned for a few years, so intact were the contents of the mausoleum, so amazed was the world by the breathtaking view of Ancient Egypt in all its glory, that the name of the young man entombed within would forever be known throughout the entire planet: Tutankhamen!

Tutankhamen was Akhenaten’s offspring not by Nefertiti but by another royal wife. Interestingly though, Nefertiti would become just as famous as her stepson but with one important difference. The world knows King Tut because of the vast hoard of incredible treasures buried with him. In contrast, only one fragile statue is the source of the queen’s global reputation.

But what a statue! There in Berlin, looking at it behind the glass wall, I was mesmerized. For this was the image which must have revolutionized notions of beauty all over the globe. Nefertiti’s discovery in 1912 may have eventually led to the discarding of plump cheeks and fuller figures as the models of desirability. In her high cheek bones, swan-like neck, and diminished silhouette – still hallmarks of today’s fashion industry - one can discern glimmers of Audrey Hepburn, of Tingting Cojuanco with her portrait by Bravo.

But then consider: at what price was all this exquisite perfection achieved? Think of what resources were exploited to sustain the regime that produced this statue. Think of the turmoil of Amarna, of what may have happened to those who disobeyed the reordering of long-accepted pantheons. In less distant times, recall the anguish generated by a restructuring of the ideals of feminine beauty especially among those who were differently gifted. No wonder that Camille Paglia had also observed how this statue is a “bodiless head of fright” and that “the proper reaction to the Nefertiti bust is fear.”

Fearsome or otherwise, Nefertiti’s image is even today still surrounded by many conflicts. There are arguments over the existence of her mummy. She is, as well, at the center of a brewing contest of wills between her host, Germany and her birthplace, Egypt.

Zahi Hawass, Secretary General of Cairo’s Council of Antiquities, brings up in his book, Secrets from the Sand, that the great queen’s departure from her homeland could have involved subterfuge. He notes that the statue may have been covered with a layer of gypsum to make it appear unattractive to the panel set up to divide the discoveries of the excavation.

The Germans insist that their acquisition of Nefertiti was above board. All efforts by Egypt to reclaim its regal daughter have been fruitless. At one point, Hitler is said to have declared that she was his lover and that he would never let her go. So adamant remain her Teutonic stewards about keeping the Lady of Amarna that they have just enshrined her in the recently reopened Neues Museum, refurbished through an immense project led by the British architect David Chipperfield.

Passing by the gift shop as I left Nefertiti’s gallery, I was amused to see that the great Egyptian ruler’s visage was now available as a cardboard mask. For a few euros one could look like this fabled beauty of the Nile. Actually if I had even more euros I could bring home a plaster copy to grace my living room. There were also books, pens, pencils, key chains and bookmarks. Whoever it was who really owned her, Nefertiti was big business.

Outside I would see that this legendary monarch was everywhere, inscribed on the very fabric of Berlin. She was on banners hanging from rafters, on posters on the walls, on sidewalk stall displays. She had been elevated to the status of a goddess in which, borrowed or not, rightly or not, a city had invested something most precious: its identity. How strange that an object from a faraway place and time can come to mean so much for a metropolis of the present.

Would the Egyptians ever get her back? I cannot tell. All I am certain of is that not even saying the word “Deremof” can solve the riddle.