The dispute of the heroes about beauty in J. Sand's story "What the Flowers Talk About". What flowers say - sand georges

Georges Sand "What the Flowers Talk About", first included in a 5th grade literature textbook, led VA Boldin (a teacher at Moscow School No. 1666) in a French language class. The tale is somewhat more complicated than those previously studied by schoolchildren, therefore, it is referred to the very end. school year, in order to test the capabilities of students who, for a whole year, strive, with the help of a teacher, textbook and literature lessons, to acquire the skills and abilities of a literate, "talented" reader, to understand what the author has conceived.

On the blackboard, the words of A.S. Pushkin are familiar and familiar to students:

“The tale is a lie, but there is a hint in it!
A lesson for good fellows. "

Near the blackboard are portraits of Georges Sand (at the age of seven and already an adult, famous famous writer), a small exhibition of the writer's books and books about her (for example, the books by Georges Sand "The Dog and the Sacred Flower", "Tales of the Grandmother", N. Trapeznikova "Romanticism of Georges Sand", etc.). On the desks - textbooks with story about the author, the text of the fairy tale "What the Flowers Talk About", questions to her.

Starting the conversation by repeating folk and literary tales, V. A. Boldina said that they will have to get acquainted with one more, quite unusual literary, or writer's, fairy tale by Georges Sand. Shows portraits, tells that Georges Sand is the pseudonym of Aurora Dudevant, literary name, which made the writer famous. Her books made glory French literature, her life was full of love and work. Not everyone knows that she wrote fairy tales for her children and grandchildren.

Further, the teacher tells about the life of George Sand, that in the childhood of the writer the most dear people for her there was a mother and a grandmother that from the very early childhood Aurora listened to fairy tales romantic stories, which her mother told. With her, the girl learned poetry, fables, read prayers. In the park of her grandmother's estate, the girl listened to stories and legends. Grandma taught her Latin, science, music, introduced to the literature. Aurora played the harp beautifully. Like her mother, the girl believed in God and eternal life.

Further, the schoolchildren, who have read the tale in advance (another option is also possible - to read the tale in class), say what the tale is about, briefly tell its content (the girl heard a conversation of flowers in the flower garden. They attacked the rose together, not wanting to consider her their queen. And rose hips, a distant relative of the rose, turned to the breeze to tell everyone that the rose is deservedly the queen of flowers). Further, the teacher offers to listen to how the beginning of the tale sounds in the native language for the writer - French (children expressively read the first paragraph of the tale in French). Then the conversation continues:

And now together we will go after the heroine to the flower garden and get to know better those whose voices the girl heard. (Children put on hats with flowers - poppy, aster, bindweed, carnation, introduce themselves in Russian and French.)

What do the flowers in the corner of the flower garden say? Let's listen to their speeches: the poppy does not want to recognize the rose as the queen. He does not consider anyone has the right to call himself more noble than he. Astra claims that she prettier than roses as it has more petals. The bindweed is proud that the heavenly azure is reflected in its crown, that the rose can only envy him. The field bindweed believes that the rose bad smell...

All flowers make fun of the rose, even compare it with a head of cabbage.

Why are the flowers so up in arms against the rose? (They envy her.)

How did the flowers react when they heard the story of the rose? (Universal joy, chanting, praise of the rose.)

Tchaikovsky's music sounds. (Waltz of the Flowers from The Nutcracker.) Students read poems in French about roses and flowers.

And now back to the words of Pushkin - what lesson does Georges Sand's tale teach us? (Good triumphs over evil.)

Do you know cases from life and fairy tales, when kindness, meekness, affection achieved more than evil, rudeness? (Children give examples from fairy tales, from their own lives.)

Homework:

come up with a little fairy tale that flowers could tell.

Danilov A.A.Literature of Russia, XIX century. Grade 5: textbook. for general education. institutions / A. A. Danilov, L. G. Kosulina. - 10th ed. - M.: Education, 2009 .-- 287 p., Fol. ill., cards.

Online Literature Lesson Planning, Class Problems and Answers, homework on 5th grade literature download

Lesson content lesson outline support frame lesson presentation accelerative methods interactive technologies Practice tasks and exercises self-test workshops, trainings, cases, quests homework discussion questions rhetorical questions from students Illustrations audio, video clips and multimedia photos, pictures charts, tables, schemes humor, jokes, jokes, comics parables, sayings, crosswords, quotes Add-ons abstracts articles chips for the curious cheat sheets textbooks basic and additional vocabulary of terms others Improving textbooks and lessonsbug fixes in the tutorial updating a fragment in the textbook elements of innovation in the lesson replacing outdated knowledge with new ones For teachers only perfect lessons calendar plan for the year guidelines discussion agenda Integrated lessons

What do flowers talk about?

When I was little, I was very tormented that I could not make out what the flowers were talking about. My botany teacher assured me that they weren't talking about anything. I don't know if he was deaf or was hiding the truth from me, but he swore that flowers did not speak at all.

Meanwhile, I knew that it was not so. I myself heard their vague babble, especially in the evenings, when the dew was already setting. But they spoke so softly that I could not distinguish between words. In addition, they were very distrustful, and if I walked through the garden between the flower beds or across the field, they whispered to each other: "Shh!" Along the entire row, anxiety seemed to be transmitted: "Shut up, otherwise a curious girl is eavesdropping on you."

But I got my way. I learned to step so carefully so as not to touch a single blade of grass, and the flowers did not hear how I came close to them. And then, hiding under the trees so that they would not see my shadow, I finally understood their speech.

I had to strain all my attention. The flowers' voices were so thin, delicate that the breath of the breeze or the buzzing of some moth completely drowned them out.

I don't know what language they spoke. It was neither French nor Latin, which I was taught at the time, but I understood it perfectly. It even seems to me that I understood him better than other languages ​​familiar to me.

One evening, lying on the sand, I managed not to utter a word of what was said in the corner of the flower garden. I tried not to move and heard one of the field poppies speak:

Gentlemen, it's time to put an end to these prejudices. All plants are equally noble. Our family will not yield to any other. Let anyone recognize the rose as a queen, but I declare that it is enough for me, I do not consider anyone the right to call themselves more noble than me.

I don't understand why the rose family is so proud. Please tell me, is a rose more beautiful and slimmer than me? Together, nature and art have increased the number of our petals and made our colors especially bright. We are undoubtedly richer, since the very luxury rose there are many, many two hundred petals, and we have up to five hundred. And such shades of lilac and even almost of blue color, like ours, the rose can never be achieved.

I will say to myself, - the brisk bindweed intervened, - I am Prince Delphinium. The azure of heaven is reflected in my corolla, and my numerous relatives own all the pink tints. As you can see, the notorious queen can envy us in many ways, and as for her vaunted aroma, then ...

Oh, don’t talk about it, ”the field poppy interrupted with fervor. - I'm just annoyed by the eternal talk about some kind of aroma. Well, what is aroma, please tell me? A conventional concept invented by gardeners and butterflies. I find that roses have an unpleasant smell, but I have a pleasant one.

We do not smell of anything, - said the aster, - and by this we prove our decency and good manners. The smell indicates immodesty or bragging. A flower that respects itself will not hit the nose. It is enough that he is handsome.

I disagree with you! - exclaimed a terry poppy, distinguished by a strong aroma. - Smell is a reflection of mind and health.

The terry poppy's voice was drowned out by a friendly laugh. The carnations held on to their sides, and the mignonette swayed from side to side. But, not paying attention to them, he began to criticize the shape and color of the rose, which could not answer - all the rose bushes had been cut shortly before, and only small buds appeared on the young shoots, tightly pulled together by green bunches.

Richly dressed pansies spoke out against double flowers, and since double flowers prevailed in the flower garden, general displeasure began. However, everyone was so jealous of the rose that they soon made up with each other and began to vyingly ridicule her. It was even compared to a head of cabbage, and it was said that the head of cabbage, in any case, is both thicker and healthier. The nonsense that I was listening to brought me out of patience, and stamping my foot, I suddenly spoke in the language of flowers:

Shut up! All of you talk nonsense! I thought to hear the wonders of poetry here, but, to my extreme disappointment, I found in you only rivalry, vanity, envy!

There was a deep silence and I ran out of the garden.

Let me see, I thought, maybe wildflowers are wiser than these swaggering garden plants, which receive artificial beauty from us and at the same time seem to be infected with our prejudices and mistakes.

Under the shade of a hedge, I made my way to the field. I wanted to know if the spiria, who are called the queens of the field, are just as proud and envious. On the way, I stopped near a large dog-rose, on which all the flowers were talking.

I must tell you that at the time of my childhood, there were no numerous varieties of roses that were later obtained by skilled gardeners by means of coloring. Nevertheless, nature did not deprive our area, where a variety of roses grew in the wild. And in our garden we had centifolia - a rose with a hundred petals; its homeland is unknown, but its origin is usually attributed to culture.

For me, as for everyone then, this centifolia represented the ideal of the rose, and I was not at all sure, as my teacher, that she was only a product of skillful gardening. From books I knew that even in ancient times the rose delighted people with its beauty and its aroma. Of course, at that time they did not know the tea rose, which does not smell like a rose at all, and all these lovely breeds, which now endlessly diversify, but, in essence, distort the true type of rose. They began to teach me botany, but I understood it in my own way. I had a keen sense of smell, and I certainly wanted scent to be considered one of the main signs of a flower. My tobacco-sniffing teacher did not share my passion. He was susceptible only to the smell of tobacco, and if he smelled any plant, then later he assured that it tickled his nose.

I listened with all my ears to what the rosehip was talking about over my head, because from the very first words I understood that it comes about the origin of the rose.

Stay still with us, sweet breeze, said the wild rose flowers. - We have blossomed, and the beautiful roses in the flower beds are still sleeping in their green shells. Look how fresh and cheerful we are, and if you shake us a little, then we will have the same delicate aroma as our glorious queen.

Shut up, you are only children of the north. I’ll chat with you for a moment, but don’t think of equalizing with the queen of flowers.

Sweet breeze, we respect and adore her, - answered the wild rose flowers. “We know how other flowers envy her. They assure that the rose is no better than us, that it is the daughter of a dog rose and owes its beauty only to coloration and care. We ourselves are uneducated and do not know how to argue. You are older and more experienced than us. Tell me, do you know anything about the origin of the rose?

Why, my own story... Listen and never forget it!

This is what the breeze said.

In those days, when earthly creatures still spoke the language of the gods, I was the eldest son of the king of storms. The ends of my black wings touched opposite points on the horizon. My huge hair was entwined with clouds. I looked majestic and formidable. It was in my power to collect all the clouds from the west and spread them with an impenetrable veil between the Earth and the Sun.

For a long time I reigned with my father and brothers over a barren planet. Our task was to destroy and destroy everything. When my brothers and I rushed from all sides to this helpless and small world, it seemed that life could never appear on the shapeless boulder, now called the Earth. If my father felt tired, he lay down to rest on the clouds, leaving me to continue his destructive work. But inside the Earth, which still retained immobility, was hidden a mighty divine spirit - the spirit of life, which strove outward and once, breaking mountains, pushing the seas apart, collecting a heap of dust, made its way. We redoubled our efforts, but only facilitated the growth of countless creatures, which, due to their small size, eluded us or resisted us by their very weakness. On a still warm surface crust, in the crevices, flexible plants and floating shells appeared in the waters. In vain did we drive violent waves against these tiny creatures. Life constantly appeared in new forms, as if a patient and inventive genius of creativity decided to adapt all the organs and needs of creatures to the environment we overwhelm.

Change font size:

What do flowers talk about?

When I was little, I was very tormented that I could not make out what the flowers were talking about. My botany teacher assured me that they weren't talking about anything. I don't know if he was deaf or was hiding the truth from me, but he swore that flowers did not speak at all.

Meanwhile, I knew that it was not so. I myself heard their vague babble, especially in the evenings, when the dew was already setting. But they spoke so softly that I could not distinguish between words. In addition, they were very distrustful, and if I walked through the garden between the flower beds or across the field, they whispered to each other: "Shh!" Along the entire row, anxiety seemed to be transmitted: "Shut up, otherwise a curious girl is eavesdropping on you."

But I got my way. I learned to step so carefully so as not to touch a single blade of grass, and the flowers did not hear how I came close to them. And then, hiding under the trees so that they would not see my shadow, I finally understood their speech.

I had to strain all my attention. The flowers' voices were so thin, delicate that the breath of the breeze or the buzzing of some moth completely drowned them out.

I don't know what language they spoke. It was neither French nor Latin, which I was taught at the time, but I understood it perfectly. It even seems to me that I understood him better than other languages ​​familiar to me.

One evening, lying on the sand, I managed not to utter a word of what was said in the corner of the flower garden. I tried not to move and heard one of the field poppies speak:

Gentlemen, it's time to put an end to these prejudices. All plants are equally noble. Our family will not yield to any other. Let anyone recognize the rose as a queen, but I declare that it is enough for me, I do not consider anyone the right to call themselves more noble than me.

I don't understand why the rose family is so proud. Please tell me, is a rose more beautiful and slimmer than me? Together, nature and art have increased the number of our petals and made our colors especially bright. We are undoubtedly richer, since the most luxurious rose has many, many two hundred petals, and we have up to five hundred. And such shades of lilac and even almost blue, like ours, the rose will never achieve.

I will say to myself, - the brisk bindweed intervened, - I am Prince Delphinium. The azure of heaven is reflected in my corolla, and my numerous relatives own all the pink tints. As you can see, the notorious queen can envy us in many ways, and as for her vaunted aroma, then ...

Oh, don’t talk about it, ”the field poppy interrupted with fervor. - I'm just annoyed by the eternal talk about some kind of aroma. Well, what is aroma, please tell me? A conventional concept invented by gardeners and butterflies. I find that roses have an unpleasant smell, but I have a pleasant one.

We do not smell of anything, - said the aster, - and by this we prove our decency and good manners. The smell indicates immodesty or bragging. A flower that respects itself will not hit the nose. It is enough that he is handsome.

I disagree with you! - exclaimed a terry poppy, distinguished by a strong aroma. - Smell is a reflection of mind and health.

The terry poppy's voice was drowned out by a friendly laugh. The carnations held on to their sides, and the mignonette swayed from side to side. But, not paying attention to them, he began to criticize the shape and color of the rose, which could not answer - all the rose bushes had been cut shortly before, and only small buds appeared on the young shoots, tightly pulled together by green bunches.

Richly dressed pansies spoke out against double flowers, and since double flowers prevailed in the flower garden, general displeasure began. However, everyone was so jealous of the rose that they soon made up with each other and began to vyingly ridicule her. It was even compared to a head of cabbage, and it was said that the head of cabbage, in any case, is both thicker and healthier. The nonsense that I was listening to, brought me out of patience, and stamping my foot, I suddenly spoke in the language of flowers:

Shut up! All of you talk nonsense! I thought to hear the wonders of poetry here, but, to my extreme disappointment, I found in you only rivalry, vanity, envy!

There was a deep silence and I ran out of the garden.

Let me see, I thought, maybe wildflowers are wiser than these swaggering garden plants, which receive artificial beauty from us and at the same time seem to be infected with our prejudices and mistakes.

Under the shade of a hedge, I made my way to the field. I wanted to know if the spiria, who are called the queens of the field, are just as proud and envious. On the way, I stopped near a large dog-rose, on which all the flowers were talking.

I must tell you that at the time of my childhood, there were no numerous varieties of roses that were later obtained by skilled gardeners by means of coloring. Nevertheless, nature did not deprive our area, where a variety of roses grew in the wild. And in our garden we had centifolia - a rose with a hundred petals; its homeland is unknown, but its origin is usually attributed to culture.

For me, as for everyone then, this centifolia represented the ideal of the rose, and I was not at all sure, as my teacher, that she was only a product of skillful gardening. From books I knew that even in ancient times the rose delighted people with its beauty and its aroma. Of course, at that time they did not know the tea rose, which does not smell like a rose at all, and all these lovely breeds, which now endlessly diversify, but, in essence, distort the true type of rose. They began to teach me botany, but I understood it in my own way. I had a keen sense of smell, and I certainly wanted scent to be considered one of the main signs of a flower. My tobacco-sniffing teacher did not share my passion. He was susceptible only to the smell of tobacco, and if he smelled any plant, then later he assured that it tickled his nose.

I listened with all my ears to what the rosehip was talking about over my head, because from the very first words I understood that we were talking about the origin of the rose.

Stay still with us, sweet breeze, said the wild rose flowers. - We have blossomed, and the beautiful roses in the flower beds are still sleeping in their green shells. Look how fresh and cheerful we are, and if you shake us a little, then we will have the same delicate aroma as our glorious queen.

Shut up, you are only children of the north. I’ll chat with you for a moment, but don’t think of equalizing with the queen of flowers.

Sweet breeze, we respect and adore her, - answered the wild rose flowers. “We know how other flowers envy her. They assure that the rose is no better than us, that it is the daughter of a dog rose and owes its beauty only to coloration and care. We ourselves are uneducated and do not know how to argue. You are older and more experienced than us. Tell me, do you know anything about the origin of the rose?

Of course, my own story is connected with it. Listen and never forget it!

This is what the breeze said.

In those days, when earthly creatures still spoke the language of the gods, I was the eldest son of the king of storms. The ends of my black wings touched opposite points on the horizon. My huge hair was entwined with clouds. I looked majestic and formidable. It was in my power to collect all the clouds from the west and spread them with an impenetrable veil between the Earth and the Sun.

For a long time I reigned with my father and brothers over a barren planet. Our task was to destroy and destroy everything. When my brothers and I rushed from all sides to this helpless and small world, it seemed that life could never appear on the formless block, now called Earth. If my father felt tired, he lay down to rest on the clouds, leaving me to continue his destructive work. But inside the Earth, which still retained immobility, was hidden a mighty divine spirit - the spirit of life, which strove outward and once, breaking mountains, pushing the seas, collecting a heap of dust, made its way. We redoubled our efforts, but only facilitated the growth of countless creatures, which, due to their small size, eluded us or resisted us by their very weakness. On the still warm surface of the earth's crust, in crevices, in the waters, flexible plants and floating shells appeared. In vain did we drive violent waves against these tiny creatures. Life constantly appeared in new forms, as if a patient and inventive genius of creativity decided to adapt all the organs and needs of creatures to the environment we overwhelm.

Current page: 1 (total book has 1 pages)

What do flowers talk about?

When I was little, I was very tormented that I could not make out what the flowers were talking about. My botany teacher assured me that they weren't talking about anything. I don't know if he was deaf or was hiding the truth from me, but he swore that flowers did not speak at all.

Meanwhile, I knew that it was not so. I myself heard their vague babble, especially in the evenings, when the dew was already setting. But they spoke so softly that I could not distinguish between words. In addition, they were very distrustful, and if I walked through the garden between the flower beds or across the field, they whispered to each other: "Shh!" Along the entire row, anxiety seemed to be transmitted: "Shut up, otherwise a curious girl is eavesdropping on you."

But I got my way. I learned to step so carefully so as not to touch a single blade of grass, and the flowers did not hear how I came close to them. And then, hiding under the trees so that they would not see my shadow, I finally understood their speech.

I had to strain all my attention. The flowers' voices were so thin, delicate that the breath of the breeze or the buzzing of some moth completely drowned them out.

I don't know what language they spoke. It was neither French nor Latin, which I was taught at the time, but I understood it perfectly. It even seems to me that I understood him better than other languages ​​familiar to me.

One evening, lying on the sand, I managed not to utter a word of what was said in the corner of the flower garden. I tried not to move and heard one of the field poppies speak:

- Gentlemen, it's time to put an end to these prejudices. All plants are equally noble. Our family will not yield to any other. Let anyone recognize the rose as a queen, but I declare that I have had enough; I do not consider anyone the right to call themselves more noble than me.

“I don’t understand why the rose family is so proud. Please tell me, is a rose more beautiful and slimmer than me? Together, nature and art have increased the number of our petals and made our colors especially bright. We are undoubtedly richer, since the most luxurious rose has many, many two hundred petals, and we have up to five hundred. And such shades of lilac and even almost blue, like ours, will never be achieved by a rose.

- I will say to myself, - intervened brisk bindweed, - I am Prince Delphinium. The azure of heaven is reflected in my corolla, and my numerous relatives own all the pink tints. As you can see, the notorious queen can envy us in many ways, and as for her vaunted aroma, then ...

“Oh, don’t talk about it,” the field poppy interrupted with fervor. - I'm just annoyed by the eternal talk about some kind of aroma. Well, what is aroma, please tell me? A conventional concept invented by gardeners and butterflies. I find that roses have an unpleasant smell, but I have a pleasant one.

- We do not smell of anything, - said the aster, - and by this we prove our decency and good manners. The smell indicates immodesty or bragging. A flower that respects itself will not hit the nose. It is enough that he is handsome.

- I disagree with you! - exclaimed a terry poppy, distinguished by a strong aroma. - Smell is a reflection of mind and health.

The terry poppy's voice was drowned out by a friendly laugh. The carnations held on to their sides, and the mignonette swayed from side to side. But, not paying attention to them, he began to criticize the shape and color of the rose, which could not answer - all the rose bushes had been cut shortly before, and only small buds appeared on the young shoots, tightly pulled together by green bunches.

Richly dressed pansies spoke out against double flowers, and since double flowers prevailed in the flower garden, general displeasure began. However, everyone was so jealous of the rose that they soon made up with each other and began to vyingly ridicule her. It was even compared to a head of cabbage, and it was said that the head of cabbage, in any case, is both thicker and healthier. The nonsense that I was listening to, brought me out of patience, and stamping my foot, I suddenly spoke in the language of flowers:

- Shut up! All of you talk nonsense! I thought to hear the wonders of poetry here, but, to my extreme disappointment, I found in you only rivalry, vanity, envy!

There was a deep silence and I ran out of the garden.

Let me see, I thought, maybe wildflowers are wiser than these swaggering garden plants, which receive artificial beauty from us and at the same time seem to be infected with our prejudices and mistakes.

Under the shade of a hedge, I made my way to the field. I wanted to know if the spiria, who are called the queens of the field, are just as proud and envious. On the way, I stopped near a large dog-rose, on which all the flowers were talking.

I must tell you that at the time of my childhood, there were no numerous varieties of roses that were later obtained by skilled gardeners by means of coloring. Nevertheless, nature did not deprive our area, where a variety of roses grew in the wild. And in our garden we had centifolia - a rose with a hundred petals; its homeland is unknown, but its origin is usually attributed to culture.

For me, as for everyone then, this centifolia represented the ideal of the rose, and I was not at all sure, as my teacher, that she was only a product of skillful gardening. From books I knew that even in ancient times the rose delighted people with its beauty and its aroma. Of course, at that time they did not know the tea rose, which does not smell like a rose at all, and all these lovely breeds, which now endlessly diversify, but, in essence, distort the true type of rose. They began to teach me botany, but I understood it in my own way. I had a keen sense of smell, and I certainly wanted scent to be considered one of the main signs of a flower. My tobacco-sniffing teacher did not share my passion. He was susceptible only to the smell of tobacco, and if he smelled any plant, then later he assured that it tickled his nose.

I listened with all my ears to what the rosehip was talking about over my head, because from the very first words I understood that we were talking about the origin of the rose.

“Stay still with us, sweet breeze,” said the wild rose flowers. - We have blossomed, and the beautiful roses in the flower beds are still sleeping in their green shells. Look how fresh and cheerful we are, and if you shake us a little, then we will have the same delicate aroma as our glorious queen.

- Shut up, you are only children of the north. I’ll chat with you for a moment, but don’t think of equalizing with the queen of flowers.

- Sweet breeze, we respect and adore her, - answered the wild rose flowers. “We know how other flowers envy her. They assure that the rose is no better than us, that it is the daughter of a dog rose and owes its beauty only to coloration and care. We ourselves are uneducated and do not know how to argue. You are older and more experienced than us. Tell me, do you know anything about the origin of the rose?

- Why, my own story is connected with it. Listen and never forget it!

This is what the breeze said.

- In those days, when earthly creatures still spoke the language of the gods, I was the eldest son of the king of storms. I touched opposite points of the horizon with the tips of my black wings. My huge hair was entwined with clouds. I looked majestic and formidable. It was in my power to collect all the clouds from the west and spread them with an impenetrable veil between the Earth and the Sun.

For a long time I reigned with my father and brothers over a barren planet. Our task was to destroy and destroy everything. When my brothers and I rushed from all sides to this helpless and small world, it seemed that life could never appear on the formless block, now called Earth. If my father felt tired, he lay down to rest on the clouds, leaving me to continue his destructive work. But inside the Earth, which still retained immobility, was hidden a mighty divine spirit - the spirit of life, which strove outward and once, breaking mountains, pushing the seas, collecting a heap of dust, made its way. We redoubled our efforts, but only facilitated the growth of countless creatures, which, due to their small size, eluded us or resisted us by their very weakness. On the still warm surface of the earth's crust, in crevices, in the waters, flexible plants and floating shells appeared. In vain did we drive violent waves against these tiny creatures. Life constantly appeared in new forms, as if a patient and inventive genius of creativity decided to adapt all the organs and needs of creatures to the environment we overwhelm.

We began to get tired of this resistance, which looked so weak, but in reality it was insurmountable. We destroyed entire families of living creatures, but in their place were others, more adapted to the struggle, which they successfully withstood. Then we decided to gather with the clouds to discuss the situation and ask our father for new reinforcements.

While he was giving us his orders, the Earth, having briefly rested from our persecution, managed to become covered with many plants, among which myriads of animals of the most diverse breeds moved, looking for refuge and food in huge forests, on the slopes of mighty mountains or in clear waters huge lakes.

“Go,” said the king of storms, my father. “Look, the Earth is dressed up like a bride about to marry the Sun. Separate them. Collect huge clouds, blow with all your might. Let your breath upturn trees, flatten mountains, stir up seas. Go and do not return until at least one living creature, at least one plant remains on this accursed Earth, where life wants to settle against us.

We went to sow death in both hemispheres. Cutting through the veil of clouds like an eagle, I rushed to the countries Far East, where on the sloping lowlands, descending to the sea under a sultry sky, among the strong moisture are found gigantic plants and fierce animals. I had rested from the previous fatigue and now felt an extraordinary surge of strength. I was proud to bring death to weak creatures who dared not to succumb to me the first time. With one flap of my wing, I swept the whole area clean, with one breath I broke the whole forest and madly, blindly rejoiced that I was stronger than all the mighty forces of nature.

Suddenly I smelled an unfamiliar scent and, astonished at this new sensation, I stopped to figure out where it came from. Then I saw for the first time a creature that appeared during my absence, a gentle, graceful, charming creature - a rose!

I rushed to crush her. She bent down, lay down on the ground and said to me:

- Have pity on me! After all, I am so beautiful and meek! Breathe my scent, then you will spare me.

I breathed in her scent - and the sudden intoxication softened my rage. Sinking to the ground beside her, I fell asleep.

When I woke up, the rose had already straightened and stood, swaying slightly from my calm breathing.

“Be my friend,” she said, “don't leave me. When your terrible wings are folded, I like you. How beautiful you are! That's right, you are the king of the forests! In your gentle breath I hear a wonderful song. Stay here or take me

with myself. I want to look up close at the Sun and the clouds. I put the rose on my chest and flew. But soon it seemed to me that she was dying. From exhaustion, she was no longer able to talk to me, but her scent continued to delight me. Fearing to destroy her, I flew quietly over the tops of the trees, avoiding the slightest jolt. So I made it to the palace with precautions from dark clouds where my father was waiting for me.

- What do you need? - he asked. - Why did you leave the forest on the shores of India? I can see it from here. Come back and destroy it quickly.

“Okay,” I replied, showing him the rose. “But let me leave with

you are a treasure that I want to save.

- To rescue! He exclaimed and growled in anger. - Do you want to save something?

With one breath, he knocked out of my hands a rose, which disappeared into space, scattering its faded petals around.

I rushed after her to grab at least one petal. But the tsar, formidable and implacable, in turn grabbed me, knocked me down, pressed my chest with his knee and with force tore off my wings, so that the feathers from them flew into space following the rose petals.

- Unhappy! - he said. - You are filled with compassion, now you are no longer my son. Go to Earth to the ill-fated spirit of life, which resists me. Let's see if he can make something of you, when now, by my grace, you are no longer good for anything.

Pushing me into the bottomless abyss, he renounced me forever.

I rolled to the lawn and, shattered, destroyed, found myself next to a rose. And she was cheerful and fragrant more than ever.

- What a miracle? I thought you were dead and I mourned you. Are you gifted with the ability to be reborn after death?

“Of course,” she replied, “as are all beings supported by the spirit of life. Take a look at the buds around me. Tonight I will already lose my brilliance and will have to take care of my rebirth, and my sisters will captivate you with their beauty and fragrance. Stay with us. Aren't you our friend and comrade?

I was so humiliated by my fall that I shed tears on the ground to which from now on I felt chained. My sobs touched the spirit of life. He appeared to me in the form of a radiant angel and said:

- You have known compassion, you have pity on the rose, for this I will pity you. Your father is strong, but I am stronger than him, because he destroys, and I create. '' With these words, he touched me, and I turned into a pretty ruddy child. Wings like those of butterflies suddenly grew over my shoulders, and I began to fly with admiration.

“Stay with flowers in the shade of the woods,” the spirit said to me. “These green vaults will now shelter and protect you. Subsequently, when I manage to defeat the rage of the elements, you will be able to fly around the entire Earth, where you will be blessed and chanted. And you, beautiful rose, you were the first to disarm anger with your beauty! Be the symbol of the coming reconciliation of the forces of nature that are now hostile. Teach future generations also. Civilized peoples will want to use everything for their own purposes. My precious gifts- meekness, beauty, grace - will seem to them almost lower than wealth and strength. Show them, dear rose, that there is no greater power than the ability to enchant and reconcile. I give you a title that no one will dare to take away from you forever and ever. I proclaim you the queen of flowers. The kingdom I have established is divine and acts only by charm.

From that day on, I healed peacefully, and people, animals and plants loved me dearly. Thanks to my divine origin, I can choose my place of residence anywhere, but I am a devoted servant of life, which I promote with my beneficial breath, and I do not want to leave the dear Earth, where my first and eternal love... Yes, dear flowers, I am a loyal fan of the rose, and therefore, your brother and friend.

- In that case, give us a ball! - exclaimed the wild rose flowers. `` We will rejoice and sing the praises of our queen, the rose of the east with a hundred petals. '' The breeze moved its pretty wings, and over my head began lively dances, accompanied by rustling of branches and rustling of leaves, which replaced tambourines and castanets. From enthusiasm, some wild roses tore their ball dresses and showered their petals on my hair. But this did not stop them from dancing further, singing:

- Long live the beautiful rose, who defeated the son of the king of storms with her meekness! Long live the good breeze, which remains a friend of flowers!

When I told my teacher everything I had heard, he said that I was sick and that I needed to be given a laxative. However, my grandmother helped me out and told him:

- I am very sorry for you if you yourself have never heard what the flowers are talking about. I would like to return to the times when I understood them. This is the property of children. Don't mix properties with ailments!

Lesson 68 GEORGES SAND "WHAT THE FLOWERS TALK ABOUT". DISPUTE OF HEROES ABOUT THE BEAUTIFUL *

13.05.2015 8000 0

Target: to introduce children to the artistic world of the works of J. Sand; to expand the understanding of students about foreign children's literature; to develop the skills of analyzing a work of art, to form a striving for the beautiful.

During the classes

I. Organizational stage of the lesson. Creating an emotional mood, setting goals for the lesson.

II. Georges Sand: biography pages.

Expressive readingintroductory article to the chapter of the textbook.

III. "What the Flowers Talk About". The dispute of the heroes about the beautiful.

A comment: the tale is read by pupils at home.

Textbook Conversation(students corroborate their answers with quotes from the text).

- What kind of fairy tale "What the Flowers Talk About" can be called: author's or folk? Why?

- What does the main heroine of the tale say? Who do you think is right in the argument: she or the botany teacher? (main character fairy tales "What the Flowers Talk About" thinks she can hear the voices of flowers. The botany teacher believes that flowers do not speak at all. In fact, the teacher is right, because flowers cannot talk like people. At the same time, the girl is also right, because her attention to all living things, sympathy helps her as if to hear the voices of plants.)

- What were the flowers arguing about? What angered them? Why did they prove their advantages over the beauty of roses? (The flowers were arguing about which of them is more beautiful and better. They were outraged that people pay more attention to the rose. They wanted to prove their advantage over the beauty of roses, because they felt offended and envied the rose.)

- What angered the girl? (The girl was outraged by the rivalry of flowers, their vanity and envy, and she called the conversations of flowers nonsense.)

- What pages of a fairy tale created by a Russian writer resembles this episode? (The tale of V. M. Garshin "Attalea princeps".)

- How is creation and destruction presented in the tale? Can we call these images allegorical? Why? (Destruction is presented in the fairy tale in the form of the father of storms and his sons, who wanted to destroy all life on Earth. Creation is presented in the form of a "spirit of life", a powerful divine spirit that escaped from inside the Earth and resisted destruction. The more storms destroyed, the more new forms of life appeared on Earth. In the images of the king of storms and the "spirit of life" the author presents us with the law of the development of all life on Earth.)

- How do you imagine a rose from a fairy tale by Georges Sand? (Rose possessed precious gifts of “meekness, beauty and grace.” It was she who was called to “enchant and reconcile.” The beauty rose defeated the son of the king of storms with her beauty and meekness.)

- How did the teacher and her grandmother take the girl's story? (The teacher did not believe the girl, because he had forgotten how to perceive the beauty of flowers and did not even smell them. Grandmother believed her granddaughter because she remembered how little she herself was and also watched the flowers, listened to their voices. As a child, she, like granddaughter, she understood what the flowers were talking about.)

- As you understand the words of the grandmother: “I am very sorry for you if you yourself have never heard what the flowers are talking about. I would like to return to the times when I understood them. These are the properties of children. Don't mix properties with ailments! ”? (The ability to understand the speech of flowers, plants and stones is associated with love and attention to nature, with the desire to understand her life. A property is something that is naturally inherent in man. features of perception with the manifestation of the disease.)

IV. Summing up the lesson.

Homework: write a miniature essay "What the flower told me (butterfly, stone, tree ...)".