Flashback: Locus Maleficarum

The town of Salem has given more power to witchcraft than those accused of and executed for it ever did.

Without its one claim to fame, Salem would just be another New England colonial town.  One could argue that it would be even less well-preserved, were there not such a strong reason to keep its old buildings in good shape.  And yes, Salem does benefit from its sea-going heritage, and Nathaniel Hawthorne and the House of the Seven Gables, and its proximity to Boston and Plymouth.  But the majority of the tourists and their dollars come for the witches.

Had they the chance to offer opinions, neither the accused nor the accusers would likely be able to believe what Salem has become.  Whereas the 17th-century citizenry lived in fear of witches, those who readily confess to using magic now flock there.  As there is nothing to suggest that the area has any innate supernatural vibes, the influx of modern witches to the scene of the crime, so to speak, can be seen as defiant at best--as they claim a space from which their alleged forebears were violently excluded--and crassly capitalist at worst.

I didn't quite realize this on my previous visit, with the seventh grade, but it was patently clear this time.  Still, it is an interesting city, and I'd go back again, if only to visit the Peabody Essex Museum, which is closed on Mondays.  (Also to visit the Olde Pepper Candy Companie, which makes really good cherry cordials.)

On our visit in May two friends and I went first to the Witch Museum, housed in a former church.  The statue out front is of Roger Conant, one of the city's founders, but his billowing cloak and Salem's prevailing preoccupation make it easy to mistake him for a witch.  Inside is a strange display.  Groups of visitors enter what must have been the sanctuary and sit on benches, either in the middle or on the sides.  Around the room, well above head height, are dioramas depicting scenes in the trials.  These dioramas are not particularly state-of-the-art, and are illuminated one at a time as a recording tells the story.  The narration sounds like something out of a B horror film, the dioramas are quaint, and the overall effect verges on cheesiness.  And yet it is not laughable.  I've known about the trials since at least sixth grade, and have read The Crucible, and consider myself generally pretty familiar with the event; but I had a visceral reaction to the dioramas, particularly the ones showing (entirely bloodless) executions.  It's one thing to know the fact that people died, and another altogether to see a representation of that.

After the show, visitors walk through a weak exhibit that gives a very vague history of witchcraft throughout the years.  It includes mannequins of a pair of modern-day witches, whose ceremonial robes are made of panne velvet, the likes of which few real witches would likely be caught dead in.

We also visited the poorly-named Witch House.  The house is the only one left in Salem that has a direct connection to the trials; Jonathan Corwin, a judge, lived there.  It's a nice two-story colonial house, set up as it may have been for its inhabitants, with herbs hanging near the hearth and one of the upstairs rooms dedicated to explaining the experience of childbirth in the colonial era.  Despite the name, the house gives no information specifically about the trials.  It was, however, easily one of the most historically edifying things we saw.

Of course the highlight of the trip was visiting the Burying Point.  Compared to others I have visited it was somewhat sparse, but residents include Justice Hathorne, Nathaniel Hawthorne's forebear and trial judge, and a Mayflower passenger.  We also enjoyed the tombstone of Nathanael Ward, a young man who had been a librarian at Harvard and who died at only age 23.  Adjacent to the Burying Point is the Witch Trials Memorial.  Executed as they were, the accused were buried in unmarked graves; the memorial names them all and records their date and manner of death. 

Many of the shops in town cater to an occult audience, and offer psychic readings.  And, of course, there's a store where you can buy all kinds of Harry Potter merchandise (with some Game of Thrones and Doctor Who goods thrown in as well).  I'll admit that I was tempted by the Salem Quidditch t-shirt, but was deterred by the school group crowding the store.  The adjacent shop claimed to sell wands, though every time we tried the door it was locked; just when we were about to give up someone noticed us at the door and let us in.  The interior was somewhat modeled after Ollivander's, though was much less precariously stocked, and there were a variety of hand-turned wands in different woods.  The shop also offered things like wax seal kits and quill pens.  I'd rather have something or be somewhere that looks like it's from the world of a story than something officially branded and cheaply produced, so I much preferred the wand shop to its neighbor, whose products you could find in any mall.

Salem is an odd place.  My previous visit presented a more well-rounded overview of the area's history, including its seafaring and literary ties.  That Salem seems almost like a different town than the witchcraft-obsessed Salem.  It is worth a visit, and also contemplation: not only of one of our worst episodes, but of why we--as individuals and as a society--revere and visit the places we do.