[GIORGIO]
Is this what you call love?
This endless and insatiable
Smothering pursuit of me
You think that this is love?
I'm sorry that you're lonely
I'm sorry that you want me as you do
I'm sorry that I fail to feel
The way you wish me to feel
I'm sorry that you're ill
I'm sorry you're in pain
I'm sorry that you aren't beautiful
But yes, I wish you'd go away
And leave me alone!
Everywhere I turn, there you are
This is not love, but some kind of obsession
Will you never learn when too far is too far?
Have you no concern for what I feel, what I want?
[Giorgio points at Clara's letter.]
Love is what you earn
And return
When you care for another
So much that the other's set free
Don't you see?
Can't you understand?
Love's not a constant demand
It's a gift you bestow
Love isn't sudden surrender
It's tender and slow
It must grow!
Yet everywhere I go
You appear or I know you are near
This is not love, just a need for possession
Call it what you will
This is not love, this is a reverse
Like a curse, something out of control
I've begun to fear for my soul!
(Music stops; a loud clap of thunder is heard. Trembling, Fosca shudders momentarily and crumples to the ground. Giorgio turns and sees her lying there; he crosses the stage past her and begins to exit. He stops, pauses for a moment, then reluctantly returns to her, covering her with his coat. He picks her up and carries her offstage as the lights fade to black.)