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20 pages 40 minutes read

Anne Bradstreet

Verses upon the Burning of our House

Fiction | Poem | Adult | Published in 1678

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Symbols & Motifs

Fire

It is a matter of historic record (and the first-generation Puritans, aware of the cosmic import of their mission, were meticulous record-keepers) that the home of Simon and Anne Bradstreet was, in fact, destroyed by a fire on July 10, 1666. That reality makes it precarious to appropriate fire as a symbol. After all, the narrative of the house reduced to ashes was not some decision made by an architect-poet to create a poem. The fire was real. Its destruction was real.

But within the Puritan vision nothing is simply real, and fire carries for Bradstreet the weight of Christian symbolism. From the Old Testament narratives of Exodus—when God appeared to Moses as a burning bush and as a pillar of fire to light the way of the Jewish faithful out of Egypt—to the account of the first Pentecost in the New Testament Acts of the Apostles—when the Holy Spirit manifested itself in the form of tongues of fire that descended onto the heads of the apostles—fire had signaled God’s presence. The heat symbolizes the physical presence of God, while the radiant light signals the illumination of God’s wisdom.

Similarly, Bradstreet translates her harrowing and traumatic experience into a manifestation of God’s presence, even as she watches the fire consume her house and feels the waves of heat. The housefire, in destroying all the distractions of her material goods, purifies her life and focuses her attention where it should have been all along. In this emotional evolution, fire in Christian wisdom literature also can represent the dramatic intervention of God’s wrath, a sign of displeasure over the apostasy of His people, most notably the firestorm he sends down on the sinful towns of Sodom and Gomorrah. That is the lesson Bradstreet takes to heart: The loving and merciful God sends down fire to purify Bradstreet herself.

The Trunk and the Chest

As Bradstreet inventories objects lost in the fire—chairs and tables and a bed—she lingers for an entire line on the blackened spot where once stood a trunk and a chest. She offers no other details. It is a matter of conjecture, of course, why a trunk and a chest might deserve such lingering treatment. Why might Bradstreet find the loss of those household objects particularly sorrowful?

By this time, Bradstreet’s volume of poetry had appeared in London and had received generous response. She was, by any measure, now a poet—a female poet, and a Puritan female poet for that matter. What that means is that by 1666, Bradstreet would be writing poems the same way others would write letters or keep a journal. Poems were part of her day, many of them, we know now, private poems about her deeply satisfying marriage, the love for her children, and above all, her infatuation with the gorgeous wilderness around Andover. It is a small leap in logic to see the trunk and the chest as symbols of Bradstreet’s copious writings. In the trunk and the chest, she thinks as she kicks through the ashes, was work she could never replace, never entirely replicate.

Given such a possibility, Bradstreet’s lingering gaze on the ashes of her work, her poetry, gives special sorrow to that moment in the poem. Unlike the table where she entertained family and friends, unlike the chairs where she and her husband prayed, the trunk and the chest symbolize what most defined her own personal identity: her art, lost now forever. A chair can be rebuilt, a home can be replaced, but poems are gone. Here Bradstreet experiences the particular pain of the artist.

Heaven as Home

“Thou hast a house on high erect / Framed by that mighty Architect” (Lines 43-44). It is the joyful message sounded again and again in both the Old and the New Testaments that the earth is not our home. It is the message of Christ: Do not lose yourself in the things of this world. Do not lose heart. St. Paul echoes that reassurance in Corinthians 5:1, in a particularly relevant passage that must have comforted Bradstreet as she cast her sorrowing eyes on the ashes of her home. “For we know that if our earthly house, this tent, is destroyed, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens.

In this Biblical context, Bradstreet uses Heaven not as a place of salvation or a resplendent joyful space for the celebration of God’s love. Rather, she uses Heaven as a symbol of a home bought and paid for (by the blood of Christ’s sacrifice), a home that, unlike this flimsy wooden structure in Andover (the equivalent of her tent), “stands permanent” (Line 46). It is this blessed assurance that in the end gifts Bradstreet not with comfort—that comes from the generous ministrations of friends and family in the wake of this tragedy—but rather with hope. Farewell, she says to all of her things, all of them “pelf” (Line 52), that is, they were God’s, stolen from God as she pretended those objects were hers. Farewell “my store” (Line 52). Heaven then symbolizes the home that cannot be destroyed.

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