Blood Wedding is a play about the ways in which history repeats itself. As early as the first scene, the Bridegroom’s mother expresses her unwillingness to forget the past, saying that she will never stop talking about how the Felix family murdered her husband and firstborn son. These travesties happened many years ago, but she refuses to move on, evidently worried that the bad blood between her family and their enemies will resurface. Throughout the play, then, she is presented as an anxious old women who can’t overcome her personal history, which ultimately affects her ability to enjoy life in the present. However, her fear of the past—and its tendency to repeat itself—is eventually justified when her son dies at the hands of Leonardo Felix, thus succumbing to the same miserable fate as his father and brother. Strangely enough, this fulfillment of destiny actually releases the old woman from her fears, as she realizes she can finally live her life without having to worry about what will happen to her loved ones. In this sense, fear and anticipation themselves trouble the mother more than the actual reality of losing her son. In fact, with nothing else to lose, she stops obsessing about the cyclical nature of history. In turn, Lorca implies that although tragedy may indeed repeat itself, people ought to live in the moment, since worrying about fate won’t change what happens but will ruin a person’s ability to enjoy the present.
In the play’s opening scene, the Bridegroom finds himself forced to listen to his mother’s longwinded rant about the past, which consequently reveals her deep-rooted anxiety about the future. Even though he’s only told her that he’s going out to the vineyard to cut grapes off the branches for lunch, she subjects him to a wistful speech about his father and brother’s respective deaths, refusing to let him go about his day without stopping to remember that they were killed by the Felix family. “Is that it?” he asks, tired of her unending obsession with the past. “If I lived to be a hundred, I wouldn’t speak of anything else,” she says. Of course, it’s understandable that she’s upset about having lost two of her family members, but her inability to move on has clearly become a burden on her son, who can’t even leave the house without her worrying that he too will be killed. “I don’t like you carrying a knife,” she says. “It’s just that…I wish you wouldn’t go out to the fields.” When she says this, the audience sees that her fixation on the past actually brings itself to bear on the present, as she fears what will happen to her only remaining family member. Unfortunately, this means the Bridegroom can’t even “go out to the fields” without setting her on edge, which illustrates just how much the old woman’s fraught relationship with the past impedes upon both her and her son’s ability to lead normal lives in the present.
Rather ironically, the same obsession with the past that fuels the old woman’s fear is what later emboldens the Bridegroom to put himself in a fatally dangerous situation, showing how dwelling on the past can be harmful in the present. After learning that the Bride has run off with Leonardo Felix, the Bridegroom charges into the woods, surely aware that he’s speeding toward a conflict with one of his family’s enemies and, as such, is brazenly tempting fate. Rather than fearing that history will repeat itself, though, he appears oddly encouraged by the complicated legacy he has inherited from his father and brother. While trying to find the Bride and Leonardo in the dark woods, he turns to a young man helping him and says, “You see this arm? Well it’s not my arm. It’s my brother’s arm and my father’s arm and my whole dead family’s arm.” By saying this, the Bridegroom suggests that his father and brother’s deaths are literally part of him—they are, after all, part of his history, and since his mother refuses to let the past slip away, he has absorbed this history and incorporated it into his identity. In turn, he is especially motivated to track down Leonardo, choosing to let the embattled past between their two families steer him toward danger rather than away from it. As a result, the audience sees that his mother has good reason to fear the repetition of history, though it is, of course, tragically comedic that her obsession with their violent family legacy has contributed to the Bridegroom’s own investment in the feud—an investment that costs him his life and fulfills the destiny his mother has feared all along.
What’s most interesting about the old woman’s relationship with history and fate is that she seems to experience a sense of relief after her worst fear comes true. Having spent the majority of her adult life fretting that history will repeat itself, she is suddenly released from such worries when the Bridegroom dies. While she’s mourning, she tells her neighbor that she will now have no problem being “at peace” in her own home. “All of them are dead now,” she says. “At midnight I’ll sleep, I’ll sleep and not be afraid of a gun or a knife.” Of course, she could be referring to the Felix family when she says, “All of them are dead now,” since Leonardo has also died. But her lack of fear most likely stems from the fact that she no longer has any sons to be killed. “Other mothers will go to their windows, lashed by the rain, to see the face of their sons. Not me,” she says, sounding strangely liberated by her loss. Needless to say, this doesn’t mean she isn’t devastated that her son has been killed, but she’s quite aware that now her life can proceed peacefully. As such, Lorca subtly intimates that the mere possibility of history repeating itself was more torturous to the old woman than the actual reality of her son’s death. Furthermore, considering that her obsession with the past ultimately contributed to her son’s embrace of his own destruction, Lorca conveys that it’s both futile and potentially harmful to fixate on what can’t be changed. Instead of focusing on the merciless regenerations of history, he upholds, people should focus their efforts on conducting happier lives in the present.
History and Fate ThemeTracker
History and Fate Quotes in Blood Wedding
MOTHER (muttering and looking for [the knife]). The knife, the knife…Damn all of them and the scoundrel who invented them.
BRIDEGROOM. Let’s change the subject.
MOTHER. And shotguns…and pistols…even the tiniest knife…and mattocks and pitchforks…
BRIDEGROOM. Alright.
MOTHER. Everything that can cut a man’s body. A beautiful man, tasting the fullness of life, who goes out to the vineyards or tends to his olives, because they are his, inherited…
If I lived to be a hundred, I wouldn’t speak of anything else. First your father. He had the scent of carnation for me, and I enjoyed him for three short years. Then your brother. Is it fair? Is it possible that a thing as small as a pistol or a knife can put an end to a man who’s a bull? I’ll never be quiet.
MOTHER. I won’t stop. Can someone bring your father back to me? And your brother? And then there’s the gaol. What is the gaol? They eat there, they smoke there, they play instruments there. My dead ones full of weeds, silent, turned to dust; two men who were two geraniums…The murderers, in gaol, as large as life, looking at the mountains…
BRIDEGROOM. Do you want me to kill them?
MOTHER. No…If I speak it’s because…How am I not going to speak seeing you go out that door? I don’t like you carrying a knife. It’s just that…I wish you wouldn’t go out to the fields.
No. I can’t leave your father and your brother here. I have to go to them every morning, and if I leave, one of the Felixes could die, one of the family of murderers, and they’d bury him next to mine. I won’t stand for that. Never that! Because I’ll dig them up with my nails and all on my own I’ll smash them to bits against the wall.
NEIGHBOUR. […] I often think your son and mine are better off where they are, sleeping, resting, no chance of being crippled.
MOTHER. Be quiet. It’s all talk that, but there’s no comfort in it.
NEIGHBOUR. Calm down. What good does it do you?
MOTHER. None. But you understand.
NEIGHBOUR. Don’t stand in the way of your son’s happiness. Don’t tell him anything. You’re an old woman. Me too. You and me, we have to keep quiet.
MOTHER. I won’t say anything.
NEIGHBOUR (kissing her). Nothing.
MOTHER (calmly). Things!...
NEIGHBOUR. I’m going.
BRIDEGROOM. These are the dry lands.
MOTHER. Your father would have covered them with trees.
BRIDEGROOM. Without water?
MOTHER. He’d have looked for it. The three years he was married to me, he planted ten cherry trees. (Recalling.)
BRIDE. […] I’ll shut myself away with my husband, and I’ll love him above everything.
LEONARDO. Pride will get you nowhere! (He approaches her.)
BRIDE. Don’t come near me!
LEONARDO. To keep quiet and burn is the greatest punishment we can heap upon ourselves. What use was pride to me and not seeing you and leaving you awake night after night? No use! It only brought the fire down on top of me! You think that time heals and walls conceal, and it’s not true, not true! When the roots of things go deep, no one can pull them up!
It hurts to the ends of my veins. On the face of every one of them I can only see the hand that killed what was mine. Do you see me? Do I seem mad to you? Well I am mad from not being able to shout what my heart demands. There’s a scream here in my heart that’s always rising up, and I have to force it down again and hide it in these shawls. They’ve taken my dead ones from me and I have to be silent. And because of that people criticize.
FATHER. It can’t be her. Perhaps she’s thrown herself into the water-tank.
MOTHER. Only decent and clean girls throw themselves into the water. Not that one! But now she’s my son’s wife. Two sides. Now there are two sides here. […] My family and yours. All of you must go. Shake the dust from your shoes. Let’s go and help my son. (The people split into two groups.) He’s got plenty of family: his cousins from the coast and all those from inland. Go out from here! Search all the roads. The hour of blood has come again. Two sides. You on yours, me on mine. After them! Get after them!
Be quiet. I’m certain I’ll find them here. You see this arm? Well it’s not my arm. It’s my brother’s arm and my father’s and my whole dead family’s. And it’s got such strength, it could tear this tree from its roots if it wanted to. Let’s go quickly. I can feel the teeth of all my loved ones piercing me here so I can’t breathe.
Won’t you be quiet? I don’t want weeping in this house. Your tears are tears that come from your eyes, that’s all. But mine will come, when I’m all alone, from the soles of my feet, from my roots, and they’ll burn hotter than blood.
Here. Here’s where I want to be. At peace. All of them are dead now. At midnight I’ll sleep, I’ll sleep and not be afraid of a gun or a knife. Other mothers will go to their windows, lashed by the rain, to see the face of their sons. Not me.
You would have gone too. I was a woman burning, full of pain inside and out, and your son was a tiny drop of water that I hoped would give me children, land, health; but the other one was a dark river, full of branches, that brought to me the sound of its reeds and its soft song. And I was going with your son, who was like a child of cold water, and the other one sent hundreds of birds that blocked my path and left frost on the wounds of this poor, withered woman, this girl caressed by fire. I didn’t want to, listen to me! I didn’t want to! Your son was my ambition and I haven’t deceived him, but the other one’s arm dragged me like a wave from the sea, like the butt of a mule, and would always have dragged me, always, always, even if I’d been an old woman and all the sons of your son had tried to hold me down by my hair!