Reading sand what flowers say. The characters' dispute about beauty in the story by J. Sand "What the Flowers Talk About"

When I was a child, my dear Aurora, I was very worried that I could not understand the conversation of flowers. My botany professor assured me that they didn't say anything, whether he was deaf or didn't want to tell me the truth, but he insisted that flowers didn't say anything. I was sure of something completely different. I heard them whisper shyly, especially when the evening dew fell on them, but, unfortunately, they spoke too quietly for me to make out their words, and then they were incredulous. When I walked through the garden near the flower beds or along the path past the hayfield, some kind of sh-sh-i was heard in the air throughout the entire space, this sound ran from one flower to another and seemed to want to say: “Let's be careful, let's shut up! There is a child next to us who listens to us.” But I insisted on my own: I tried to walk so quietly that not a single grass moved under my steps. They calmed down, and I moved closer and closer. Then, so that they would not notice me, I bent down and walked under the shade of the trees. Finally I managed to overhear a lively conversation. It was necessary to concentrate all your attention, because these were such gentle voices, so pleasant and subtle that the slightest fresh breeze, the buzz of large butterflies or the flight of moths completely hid them.

I don't know what language they spoke. It was neither French nor Latin, which I was taught then, but somehow I understood it well. It even seemed to me that I understood this language much better than any other that I had heard so far. One evening, in a sheltered corner, I lay down on the sand, and I was able to listen very clearly to the entire conversation taking place around me. Some kind of hum was heard throughout the garden, all the flowers were talking at once, and it didn’t take much curiosity to learn more than one secret at a time. I remained motionless - and this is the conversation that took place among the field red poppies.

Dear ladies and gentlemen! It's time to end this stupidity. All plants are equally noble, our family is not inferior to any other - and therefore let whoever wants to recognize the primacy of the rose, as for me, I repeat to you that I am terribly bored with all this, and I no longer recognize the rights of anyone be considered better than me in origin and title.

To this the daisies responded all at once that the speaker, the field red poppy, was absolutely right. One of the daisies, which was larger and more beautiful than the others, asked to speak.

I never understood,” she said, “why the rose society assumes such an important air. Why exactly, I ask you, is the rose better and more beautiful than me? Nature and art have equally taken care to multiply our petals and enhance the brightness of our colors. On the contrary, we are much richer, because the best rose will have no more than two hundred petals, but we have up to five hundred. As for color, we have purple and pure blue - exactly the kind that roses do not have.

And I,” said the big Cavalier Spur with fervor, “I am Princess Delphinia, I have the azure of heaven on my crown, and my numerous relatives have all pinkish shades.” The imaginary queen of flowers has a lot to envy us, and as for her vaunted smell...

Please don’t tell me about this,” the field red poppy interrupted her. - Boasting with smell gets on my nerves. What is smell? Explain to me please. For example, it may seem to you that a rose smells bad, but I smell fragrant...

“We don’t smell of anything,” said the daisy, “and with this, I hope, we set an example of good manners and taste.” Perfume is a sign of immodesty and vanity. A plant that respects itself does not make itself known by smell: its beauty is enough for it.

I don't share your opinion! - exclaimed the poppy, who smelled strongly, - perfume is a sign of health and intelligence.

The fat poppy's words were covered in laughter. Carnation held onto her sides, and mignonette even fainted. But instead of getting angry, he began to criticize the shape and colors of the rose, which could not defend itself, because all its bushes had been pruned, and on the new shoots there were only small buds, tightly wrapped in their green swaddling clothes. Luxuriously dressed Pansies terribly attacked the double flowers, but since they made up the majority in the flower garden, they began to get angry. The jealousy that the rose aroused in everyone was so great that everyone decided to ridicule and humiliate her. Pansies had the greatest success - they compared the rose to a large head of cabbage and preferred the latter for its size and usefulness. The nonsense that I had to listen to brought me to despair, and I, grumbling, spoke in their language:

Shut up! - I screamed, pushing these stupid flowers with my foot. - In all this time you haven’t said anything smart. I thought I would hear the wonders of poetry among you, oh, how cruelly I was deceived! You have disappointed me with your rivalry, vanity and petty envy.

There was deep silence, and I left the flower garden. “Let’s see,” I said to myself, “maybe wild plants have more sublime feelings than these educated talkers, who, having received beauty from us, also borrowed our prejudices and our deceit.” I slipped into the shady hedge and headed towards the meadow, I wanted to find out if the meadowsweet, which was called the queen of the meadows, was also envious and proud. But I stopped near a large rose hip, on which all the flowers spoke together.

“I’ll try to find out,” I thought, “whether the wild rose blackens the larch rose and despises the double rose.”

When I was little, it really bothered me that I couldn’t make out what the flowers were saying. My botany teacher insisted that they weren't talking about anything. I don’t know if he was deaf or hiding the truth from me, but he swore that flowers didn’t talk at all.

Meanwhile, I knew that this was not so. I myself heard their vague babbling, especially in the evenings, when the dew had already set. But they spoke so quietly that I could not distinguish the 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!” Anxiety seemed to be transmitted throughout the entire row: “Shut up, otherwise a curious girl will overhear you.”

But I got my way. I learned to step so carefully 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 focus all my attention. The flowers' voices were so thin and tender that the blow of a breeze or the buzz of some night butterfly completely drowned them out.

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

One evening I managed, lying on the sand, not to utter a word of what was being 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 enough is enough for me, I do not consider anyone the right to call himself more noble than me.

I don't understand why the rose family is so proud. Tell me, please, is the rose more beautiful and slimmer than me? Nature and art have jointly 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 roses will never achieve such shades of lilac and even almost blue as ours.

“I’ll tell you about myself,” the lively bindweed intervened, “I’m Prince Delphinium.”

My crown reflects the azure of the sky, and my many relatives possess 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 even talk about it,” the field poppy interrupted passionately. - I’m just annoyed by the constant talk about some kind of fragrance. 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 don’t smell of anything,” said the astra, “and by this we prove our decency and good manners.” The smell indicates immodesty or boasting. A flower that respects itself will not hit you in the nose. It's enough that he's handsome.

- I don’t agree with you! - exclaimed the terry poppy, which had a strong aroma.

Smell is a reflection of mind and health.

But, not paying attention to them, he began to criticize the shape and color of the rose, which could not respond - all the rose bushes had been pruned shortly before, and small buds only appeared on the young shoots, tightly tied together with green tufts.

Richly dressed pansies spoke out against double flowers, and since double flowers predominated in the flower garden, general displeasure began.

However, everyone was so jealous of the rose that they soon made peace with each other and began vying with each other to ridicule it. It was even compared to a head of cabbage, and they said that the head, in any case, was thicker and healthier. The nonsense that I listened to brought me out of patience, and, stamping my foot, I suddenly spoke in the language of flowers:

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

Let’s see, I thought, maybe wildflowers are more intelligent than these arrogant garden plants that receive artificial beauty from us and at the same time seem to be infected by our prejudices and mistakes.

Under the shade of the hedge I made my way to the field. I wanted to know whether the spiria, who are called queens of the field, are also proud and envious.

On the way, I stopped near a large rose hip, on which all the flowers were talking.

I must tell you that during my childhood there were not yet numerous varieties of roses, which were subsequently obtained by skilled gardeners through coloring. Nevertheless, nature did not deprive our area, where a variety of roses grew wild. And in our garden there was a 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, like my teacher, that it was only the 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 species that now diversify endlessly, but essentially 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 definitely wanted the aroma to be considered one of the main characteristics of a flower. My teacher, who took snuff, did not share my hobby. He was sensitive only to the smell of tobacco, and if he sniffed some plant, he would later claim that it tickled his nose.

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

Stay with us, dear breeze, said the rosehip 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 rock us a little, 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 minute, but don't think about equaling the queen of flowers.

“Dear breeze, we respect and adore her,” answered the rosehip flowers. - We know how jealous other flowers are of her. They assure that the rose is no better than us, that she is the daughter of the rose hip and owes her beauty only to coloring and care. We ourselves are uneducated and do not know how to object. You are older and more experienced than us. Tell me, do you know anything about the origin of the rose?

Well, my own story is connected with it. Listen and never forget this!

That's 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. With the ends of my black wings I touched opposite points of the horizon. My huge hair was intertwined with the clouds. I looked majestic and menacing. It was in my power to gather all the clouds from the west and spread them as an impenetrable veil between the Earth and the Sun.

For a long time I, with my father and brothers, reigned over a barren planet. Our task was to destroy and destroy everything. As my brothers and I rushed from all sides towards this helpless and small world, it seemed that life could never appear on the shapeless lump now called Earth. If my father felt tired, he would lie down to rest on the clouds, leaving me to continue his destructive work. But inside the Earth, which still remained motionless, was hidden a powerful divine spirit - the spirit of life, which strived out and one day, breaking mountains, parting seas, collecting a heap of dust, paved its way. We redoubled our efforts, but only contributed to the growth of countless creatures who, 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 and in the waters, flexible plants and floating shells appeared. In vain we drove furious waves against these tiny creatures. Life continually appeared in new forms, as if a patient and inventive creative genius had decided to adapt all the organs and needs of creatures to the environment we inhabit.

We began to get tired of this resistance, so weak in appearance, but in fact insurmountable. We destroyed entire families of living creatures, but in their place others appeared, 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 persecutions, managed to be covered with a multitude of plants, among which moved myriads of animals of the most diverse breeds, looking for shelter 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. Gather huge clouds, blow with all your might. Let your breath upend trees, flatten mountains, and stir up seas. Go and don’t come back until there is at least one living creature, at least one plant left on this damned Earth, where life wants to establish itself in defiance of us.

We set out to spread death in both hemispheres. Cutting through the cloud curtain like an eagle, I rushed to the countries of the Far East, to where, on the sloping lowlands going down to the sea under a sultry sky, gigantic plants and fierce animals are found among the intense moisture. I had rested from my previous fatigue and now felt an extraordinary increase in strength. I was proud that I was bringing destruction to the weak creatures who dared not give in to me the first time. With one flap of my wing I swept away an entire area, with one breath I tore down an entire forest and madly, blindly rejoiced in the fact that I was stronger than all the mighty forces of nature.

Suddenly I smelled an unfamiliar aroma and, surprised by this new sensation, I stopped to figure out where it came from. Then for the first time I saw the creature that appeared during my absence, a gentle, graceful, lovely 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! Inhale my scent, then you will spare me.

I inhaled her scent - and the sudden intoxication softened my rage. I sank to the ground next to her and fell asleep.

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

with myself. I want to look closely at the Sun and clouds. I put the rose on my chest and flew away. But soon it seemed to me that she was dying. She was no longer able to speak to me from exhaustion, but her scent continued to delight me. Fearing that she would be killed, I flew quietly over the treetops, avoiding the slightest shock. Thus, with precautions, I reached the palace of 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 him from here. Go back and destroy it quickly.

“Okay,” I answered, showing him the rose. “But let me leave it with you.”

you are the treasure that I want to save.

“Stay with the flowers under the canopy of the forests,” the spirit told me. - Now these green vaults will cover 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 sung. And you, beautiful rose, you were the first to disarm anger with your beauty! Be a symbol of the future reconciliation of the currently hostile forces of nature. Teach also to future generations. 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 charm and reconcile. I give you a title that no one will dare take away from you forever and ever. I proclaim you the queen of flowers. The kingdom I am establishing is divine and works only by charm.

From that day on, I lived peacefully, and people, animals and plants fell in love with me dearly. Thanks to my divine origin, I can choose to live 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 holds me. Yes, dear flowers, I am a faithful admirer of the rose, and therefore your brother and friend.

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

Long live the beautiful rose, who with her meekness defeated the son of the king of storms! Long live the good breeze, who 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 really feel sorry for you if you yourself have never heard what the flowers are talking about. I wish I could go back to the times when I understood them. This is the property of children. Don't mix properties with ailments!

What do flowers say?

I had to focus all my attention. The flowers' voices were so thin and tender that the blow of a breeze or the buzz of some night butterfly completely drowned them out.

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

“I’ll tell you about myself,” the lively bindweed intervened, “I’m Prince Delphinium.” My crown reflects the azure of the sky, and my many relatives possess all the pink tints. As you can see, the notorious queen can envy us in many ways, and as for her vaunted aroma, then...

I don't agree with you! - exclaimed the terry poppy, which had a strong aroma. - Smell is a reflection of mind and health.

The voice of the terry poppy was drowned out by friendly laughter. The carnations were held by the 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 respond - all the rose bushes had been pruned shortly before, and small buds only appeared on the young shoots, tightly tied together with green tufts.

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

Shut up! You're all talking nonsense! I thought I would hear miracles of poetry here, but, to my extreme disappointment, I found only rivalry, vanity, and envy in you!

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

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

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

Shut up, you are only children of the north. I'll chat with you for a minute, but don't think about equaling the queen of flowers.

Well, my own story is connected with it. Listen and never forget this!

That's what the breeze said.

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What do flowers say?

I had to focus all my attention. The flowers' voices were so thin and tender that the blow of a breeze or the buzz of some night butterfly completely drowned them out.

One evening I managed, lying on the sand, not to utter a word of what was being 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 enough is enough for me, I do not consider anyone the right to call himself more noble than me.

“I don’t understand why the rose family is so proud.” Tell me, please, is the rose more beautiful and slimmer than me? Nature and art have jointly 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 roses will never achieve such shades of lilac and even almost blue as ours.

“Oh, don’t even talk about it,” interrupted the field poppy heatedly. – I’m just annoyed by the constant talk about some kind of fragrance. 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.

– I don’t agree with you! - exclaimed the terry poppy, which had a strong aroma. – Smell is a reflection of mind and health.

- Shut up! You're all talking nonsense! I thought I would hear miracles of poetry here, but, to my extreme disappointment, I found only rivalry, vanity, and envy in you!

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

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

“Stay with us, dear breeze,” said the rosehip 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 rock us a little, 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 minute, but don't think about equaling the queen of flowers.

“Dear breeze, we respect and adore her,” answered the rosehip flowers. “We know how jealous other flowers are of her.” They assure that the rose is no better than us, that she is the daughter of the rose hip and owes her beauty only to coloring and care. We ourselves are uneducated and do not know how to object. 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 this!

That's 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. With the ends of my black wings I touched opposite points of the horizon. My huge hair was intertwined with the clouds. I looked majestic and menacing. It was in my power to gather all the clouds from the west and spread them as an impenetrable veil between the Earth and the Sun.

“Go,” said the king of storms, my father. – Look, the Earth is dressed up like a bride about to marry the Sun. Separate them. Gather huge clouds, blow with all your might. Let your breath upend trees, flatten mountains, and stir up seas. Go and don’t come back until there is at least one living creature, at least one plant left on this damned Earth, where life wants to establish itself in defiance of us.

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! Inhale my scent, then you will spare me.

I inhaled her scent - and the sudden intoxication softened my rage. I sank to the ground next to her and fell asleep.

When I woke up, the rose had already straightened up and was standing, 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 close at the Sun and the clouds. I put the rose on my chest and flew away. But soon it seemed to me that she was dying. She was no longer able to speak to me from exhaustion, but her scent continued to delight me. Fearing that she would be killed, I flew quietly over the treetops, avoiding the slightest shock. Thus, with precautions, I reached the palace of 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 him from here. Go back and destroy it quickly.

“Okay,” I answered, showing him the rose. “But let me leave it with you.”

you are the treasure that I want to save.

- Save! – he exclaimed and growled with anger. – Do you want to save something?

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

I rushed after her to grab at least one petal. But the king, menacing and inexorable, in turn, grabbed me, threw me down, pressed my chest with his knee and forcibly tore off my wings, so that the feathers from them flew into space after the rose petals.

- Unhappy! - he said. “You have gained 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 will make something out of you, now that, by my grace, you are no longer good for anything.

Having pushed me into a bottomless abyss, he renounced me forever.

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

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

“Of course,” she answered, “just like all creatures supported by the spirit of life.” Look at the buds surrounding me. Tonight I will already lose my shine and will have to take care of my revival, 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 I now felt chained. My sobs moved the spirit of life. He appeared to me in the form of a radiant angel and said:

“You have known compassion, you have had 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, rosy-cheeked child. Wings suddenly grew behind my shoulders like butterflies, and I began to fly with admiration.

“Stay with the flowers under the canopy of the forests,” the spirit told me. – Now these green vaults will cover 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 sung. And you, beautiful rose, you were the first to disarm anger with your beauty! Be a symbol of the future reconciliation of the currently hostile forces of nature. Teach also to future generations. 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 charm and reconcile. I give you a title that no one will dare take away from you forever and ever. I proclaim you the queen of flowers. The kingdom I am establishing is divine and works only by charm.

- In that case, give us a ball! - exclaimed the rosehip flowers. “We will have fun and sing the praises of our queen, the rose of the east with a hundred petals.” The breeze moved its pretty wings, and lively dancing began above my head, accompanied by the rustling of branches and the rustling of leaves, which replaced tambourines and castanets. Out of enthusiasm, some wild roses tore their ball gowns and showered their petals on my hair. But this did not stop them from dancing further, chanting:

- Long live the beautiful rose, who with her meekness defeated the son of the king of storms! Long live the good breeze, who 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’m very sorry for you if you yourself have never heard what the flowers are talking about.” I wish I could go back to the times when I understood them. This is the property of children. Don't mix properties with ailments!

The French writer Georges Sand gives a lesson in kindness to children (and not only them) in her short but very instructive fairy tale. I hope that my development will help students understand the deep meaning of this work. Musical compositions by F. Chopin and P.I. Tchaikovsky are an excellent addition to the outline and presentation.

"Abstract"

LITERATURE LESSON IN 5TH GRADE

HEROES' DISPUTE ABOUT THE BEAUTIFUL IN J. SAND'S STORY “WHAT THE FLOWERS SAY ABOUT”

Lesson objectives: introduce students to the works of George Sand, cultivate a love of nature, a sense of responsibility for the preservation of flowers, and develop students’ cognitive activity.

DURING THE CLASSES

The fairy tale is a lie, but there is a hint in it! A lesson to good fellows!

A.S. Pushkin

I . Organizing time.

The bell rang loudly

He called us to a lesson.

My desk is fine:

Both a textbook and a notebook.

I'm tuned in, ready

Start the lesson without further ado.

II . Updating students' knowledge.

Read the statement by A.S. Pushkin: “The fairy tale is a lie, but there is a hint in it! A lesson to good fellows!”

How do you understand these words? What does a fairy tale usually teach?

Our conversation about fairy tales will continue today.

Remember what a fairy tale is? (A fairy tale is an entertaining story about extraordinary events and adventures)

What fairy tale signs do you know? What is characteristic of a fairy tale in general? ( Fiction, magic, instructiveness, entertainment, fairy-tale formulas (initial - saying, beginning; final - ending)

III . Teacher's story about the life and work of George Sand (SLIDE 1)

We are standing on the threshold of the wonderful world of George Sand’s fairy tale “What the Flowers Say,” and the beauty is that at the same time E It is important to believe in both the real and the fantastic and magical.

(SLIDE 2) Georges Sand is the pseudonym of Aurora Dudevant, a literary name that made the writer famous. Her books constituted the glory of French literature, her life was full of love and work.

(SLIDE 3)

(SLIDE 4) From the age of 4, the future writer was brought up on her grandmother’s estate in Nohant, where there was a magnificent library. By the time she came of age, Aurora had read almost all of it.

During the writer’s childhood, the dearest people to her were her mother and grandmother. From early childhood, Aurora listened to fairy tales and romantic stories that her mother told. The girl learned poetry with her, fables, read prayers. In the park of her grandmother’s estate, the girl listened to stories and legends. Her grandmother taught her Latin, natural sciences, music, introduced me to literature. Aurora played the harp beautifully.

(SLIDE 5)

(SLIDE 6)

(SLIDE 7)

(SLIDE 8) Friendship with Chopin.

(SLIDE 9)

(SLIDE 10)

IV . Understanding the fairy tale "What do the flowers say?"

(SLIDE 11) What is the theme of the fairy tale? (The theme of the fairy tale is the story of a flower argument overheard by a girl in the garden)

Read the beginning of the fairy tale. Does it have a traditional beginning? Explain why you think so.

What does the main character confess at the beginning of the fairy tale? Who do you think is right in the argument: she or the botany teacher?

Rasul GAMZATOV

I'm ready to argue with the whole world,
I'm ready to swear on my head.
The fact that all colors have eyes.
And they look at you and me
In the hour of our thoughts and worries,
In the bitter hour of trouble and failure
I saw: flowers, like people, cry
And dew is dropped on the sand...

Think about what qualities a person must have in order to see the unusual and hear, for example, what the flowers are talking about? (Attentive, empathetic, patient, inquisitive, imaginative)

And now, together, let’s follow the heroine to the flower garden and get to know those whose voices the girl heard better. (Game “Guess the flower by description”) (SLIDES 12-16)

What do the flowers in the corner of the flower garden say? (All flowers make fun of the rose, even compare it to a head of cabbage)

Why are the flowers so up in arms against the rose? (They're jealous of her)

What angered the girl words colors? (She thought to hear poetry here, but found only envy, rivalry, vanity)

Vocabulary work:

Competition is the desire to surpass someone in something.

Vanity is the desire for fame, honor, and veneration.

Envy is a feeling of irritation caused by the superiority, success, and well-being of another.

Why doesn't the girl agree with the flowers?

What does the rose hip do to the breeze? (He wants him to introduce all the inhabitants of the flower garden to the history of the rose, its right to be a queen)

What role did the scent of rose play in the history of the breeze? (The scent of a rose pacified the destructive power of the breeze)

What was the Earth like in ancient times? (Shapeless block, barren planet, small and helpless world)

What two forces fought for the Earth? (King of storms and spirit of life)

The wind reigned with his father and brothers on the barren Earth, everything was destroyed and destroyed. But inside the Earth there was a spirit of life - it sends flexible plants, shells, new forms of life from the bowels of the Earth... The King of Storms sends his sons into battle...

How did roses stop the destructive power of the breeze? (An unfamiliar aroma made the breeze stop. He saw a gentle, charming, graceful creature - a rose. She asked him to take pity on her, so beautiful and meek. The breeze inhaled her aroma and fell asleep. And when he woke up, the rose invited him to become her friend)

What role did the king of storms and the spirit of life play in the fate of the breeze? (For sympathy for the rose, the king abandoned his son, sent him to Earth, pushing him into a bottomless abyss. The spirit of life, seeing the suffering of the breeze, took pity on him, turned him into a pretty ruddy child with wings. Plants were supposed to serve as protection for him)

Why is the spirit of life confident that it is stronger than its rival, the king of storms? (The spirit of life is confident that it is stronger than its opponent, because creation is stronger than destruction)

What precious gifts did the spirit of life bestow upon the rose? (Meekness, beauty, grace. Gave the title, proclaimed her the queen of flowers. The rose became a symbol of reconciliation of hostile forcesnature )

Vocabulary work:

Meekness - compliance, humility

Grace is grace, beauty in movement.

WORK FROM THE TABLE

Flowers from the garden	Rose
Rivalry	MEEKNESS
Vanity

How did the flowers react when they heard the story of the rose? (General joy, chanting, praising the rose)(SLIDE 17)

How did the teacher and her grandmother perceive 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. The grandmother believed her granddaughter because she remembered how she herself was little and also watched the flowers and listened to their voices. As a child, she, like her granddaughter, understood what the flowers were talking about)

How do you understand the grandmother’s words: “I’m very sorry for you if you yourself have never heard what the flowers are talking about. I wish I could go back 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 its life. Grandmother believes that one should not confuse properties with illnesses, that is, features of perception with the manifestation of an illness.)

Vocabulary work

A property is something that is naturally inherent in a person.

An illness is a disease.

V . Lesson summary.

Now let's return to Pushkin's words - what lesson does George Sand's fairy tale teach us? (Good conquers evil)

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

I would like to end our amazing journey to the magical garden with a poem by S. Virgun

I have to bend over the flowers
Not for tearing or cutting,
And to see their kind faces,
And show them a kind face.

I wish you to show only kind faces to flowers; I urge you to take care of everything that gives you beauty and joy.

Homework: come up with a fairy tale about flowers.

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“Text of the story by J. Sand. What do flowers say?

J. Sand “What the flowers say”

Meanwhile, I knew that this was not so. I myself heard their vague babbling, especially in the evenings, when the dew had already set. But they spoke so quietly that I could not distinguish the words. Moreover, they were very distrustful, and if I walked through the garden between the flower beds or across the field, then he and whispered to each other: “Shh!” Anxiety seemed to be transmitted throughout the entire row: “Shut up, otherwise a curious girl will overhear you.”

I had to focus all my attention. The flowers' voices were so thin and tender that the blow of a breeze or the buzz of some night butterfly completely drowned them out.

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

I don't understand why the rose family is so proud. Tell me, please, is the rose more beautiful and slimmer than me? Nature andart has jointly 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 roses will never achieve such shades of lilac and even almost blue as ours.

I don't agree with you! - exclaimed the terry poppy, which had a strong aroma. - Smell is a reflection of mind and health.

Shut up! You're all talking nonsense! I thought I would hear miracles of poetry here, but, to my extreme disappointment, I found only rivalry, vanity, and envy in you!

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

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

Shut up, you are only children of the north. I'll chat with you for a minute, but don't think about equaling the queen of flowers.

Well, my own story is connected with it. Listen and never forget this!

That's what the breeze said.

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! Inhale my scent, then you will spare me.

I inhaled her scent - and the sudden intoxication softened my rage. I sank to the ground next to her and fell asleep.

When I woke up, the rose had already straightened up and was standing, 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

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

“Okay,” I answered, showing him the rose. “But let me leave it with you.”

you are the treasure that I want to save.

Save! - he exclaimed and growled with anger. - Do you want to save something?

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

Unhappy! - he said. - You have gained 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 will make something out of you, now that, by my grace, you are no longer good for anything.

Having pushed me into a bottomless abyss, he renounced me forever.

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

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

Of course,” she replied, “just like all creatures supported by the spirit of life.” Look at the buds surrounding me. Tonight I will already lose my shine and will have to take care of my revival, 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 I now felt chained. My sobs moved the spirit of life. He appeared to me in the form of a radiant angel and said:

You have known compassion, you have had 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, rosy-cheeked child. Wings suddenly grew behind my shoulders like butterflies, and I began to fly with admiration.

Stay with the flowers under the canopy of the forests, the spirit told me. - Now these green vaults will cover 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 sung. And you, beautiful rose, you were the first to disarm anger with your beauty! Be a symbol of the future reconciliation of the currently hostile forces of nature. Teach also to future generations. 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 charm and reconcile. I give you a title that no one will dare take away from you forever and ever. I proclaim you the queen of flowers. The kingdom I am establishing is divine and works only by charm.

In that case, give us a ball! - exclaimed the rosehip flowers. “We will have fun and sing the praises of our queen, the rose of the east with a hundred petals.” The breeze moved its pretty wings, and lively dancing began above my head, accompanied by the rustling of branches and rustling of leaves, which replaced tambourines and castanets. Out of enthusiasm, some wild roses tore their ball gowns and showered their petals on my hair. But this did not stop them from dancing further, chanting:

Long live the beautiful rose, who with her meekness defeated the son of the king of storms! Long live the good breeze, who 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:

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"Presentation"

Disputes between heroes about beauty in the story J. Sand “What do flowers talk about?”

J. Sand (A. Dudevant) 1804-1876

Amandine Lucy Aurore Dupin,

married Baroness Dudevant, known throughout the world under the literary pseudonym Georges Sand

From the age of 4, the future writer was brought up on her grandmother’s estate in Nohant, where there was a magnificent library. By the time she came of age, Aurora had read almost all of it.

Maria Aurora of Saxony, grandmother of the future writer

Georges Sand died on June 8, 1876 in Nohant. Upon learning of her death, Hugo wrote: “I mourn the dead, I salute the immortal!”

What is subject this fairy tale?

The theme of the fairy tale is the story of a flower argument overheard by a girl in the garden.

What flowers did we see?

All plants are equally noble. Let anyone recognize the rose as the queen of flowers, but I am still more noble!

Poppy

Why are we worse than the rose family? Tell me, please, is the rose more beautiful and slimmer than me? The most luxurious rose has 200 petals, but ours has up to five hundred. And roses will never achieve shades of purple and blue like ours.

Aster

Convolvulus

I am Prince Delphinium. My crown reflects the blue of the sky, and my relatives own all the pink tints. As you can see, the notorious queen may envy me. And as for its vaunted aroma, then...