Garshin proud palm summary. V.M.Garshin
In one big city there was a botanical garden, and in this garden there was a huge greenhouse made of iron and glass. It was very beautiful: slender twisted columns supported the entire building; light patterned arches rested on them, intertwined with a whole web of iron frames into which glass was inserted. The greenhouse was especially beautiful when the sun set and illuminated it with red light. Then she was all on fire, red reflections played and shimmered, as if in a huge, finely polished gemstone.
Through the thick transparent glass one could see the imprisoned plants. Despite the size of the greenhouse, it was cramped for them. The roots intertwined with each other and took away moisture and food from each other. The branches of the trees mixed with the huge leaves of palm trees, bent and broke them, and themselves, leaning on the iron frames, bent and broke. The gardeners constantly cut off the branches and tied the leaves with wires so that they could not grow wherever they wanted, but this did not help much. The plants needed a wide space, motherland and freedom. They were natives of hot countries, gentle, luxurious creatures; they remembered their homeland and yearned for it. No matter how transparent the glass roof is, it is not a clear sky. Sometimes, in winter, the windows froze; then it became completely dark in the greenhouse. The wind howled, hit the frames and made them tremble. The roof was covered with drifted snow. The plants stood and listened to the howl of the wind and remembered a different wind, warm, moist, which gave them life and health. And they wanted to feel his breeze again, they wanted him to shake their branches, play with their leaves. But in the greenhouse the air was still; unless sometimes a winter storm knocked out the glass, and a sharp, cold stream, full of frost, flew under the arch. Wherever this stream hit, the leaves turned pale, shrank and withered.
But the glass was installed very quickly. The botanical garden was managed by an excellent scientific director and did not allow any disorder, despite the fact that most of his time was spent studying with a microscope in a special glass booth built in the main greenhouse.
There was one palm tree among the plants, taller than all and more beautiful than all. The director, sitting in the booth, called her Attalea in Latin! But this name was not her native name: it was invented by botanists. The botanists did not know the native name, and it was not written in soot on a white board nailed to the trunk of a palm tree. Once a visitor came to the botanical garden from that hot country where the palm tree grew; when he saw her, he smiled because she reminded him of his homeland.
- A! - he said. - I know this tree. - And he called him by his native name.
“Excuse me,” the director shouted to him from his booth, who at that time was carefully cutting some kind of stem with a razor, “you are mistaken.” Such a tree as you are deigning to say does not exist. This is Attalea princeps, originally from Brazil.
“Oh yes,” said the Brazilian, “I fully believe you that botanists call it Attalea, but it also has a native, real name.”
“The real name is the one given by science,” the botanist said dryly and locked the door of the booth so that he would not be disturbed by people who did not even understand that if a man of science said anything, one must remain silent and obey.
And the Brazilian stood for a long time and looked at the tree, and he became sadder and sadder. He remembered his homeland, its sun and sky, its luxurious forests with wonderful animals and birds, its deserts, its wonderful southern nights. And he also remembered that he had never been happy anywhere except his native land, and he had traveled all over the world. He touched the palm tree with his hand, as if saying goodbye to it, and left the garden, and the next day he was already on the boat home.
But the palm tree remained. Now it has become even harder for her, although before this incident it was very difficult. She was all alone. She towered five fathoms above the tops of all other plants, and these other plants did not like her, envied her and considered her proud. This growth gave her only one grief; besides the fact that everyone was together, and she was alone, she remembered her native sky better than anyone and yearned for it most of all, because she was closest to what replaced it for them: the ugly glass roof. Through it she sometimes saw something blue: it was the sky, although alien and pale, but still a real blue sky. And when the plants chatted among themselves, Attalea was always silent, sad and thought only about how nice it would be to stand even under this pale sky.
– Tell me, please, will we be watered soon? - asked the sago palm, which loved dampness very much. “I really think I’m going to dry out today.”
“Your words surprise me, neighbor,” said the pot-bellied cactus. – Is the huge amount of water that is poured on you every day not enough for you? Look at me: they give me very little moisture, but I am still fresh and juicy.
“We are not used to being too thrifty,” answered the sago palm. – We cannot grow in such dry and crappy soil as some cacti. We are not used to living somehow. And besides all this, I will also tell you that you are not asked to make comments.
Having said this, the sago palm became offended and fell silent.
“As for me,” Cinnamon intervened, “I’m almost happy with my situation.” True, it’s a little boring here, but at least I’m sure that no one will rip me off.
“But not all of us were fleeced,” said the tree fern. - Of course, this prison may seem like paradise to many after the miserable existence they led in freedom.
Then cinnamon, having forgotten that she had been skinned, became offended and began to argue. Some plants stood up for her, some for the fern, and a heated argument began. If they could move, they would certainly fight.
- Why are you quarreling? - said Attalea. - Will you help yourself with this? You only increase your misfortune with anger and irritation. Better leave your arguments and think about business. Listen to me: grow higher and wider, spread out your branches, press against the frames and glass, our greenhouse will crumble into pieces, and we will go free. If one branch hits the glass, then, of course, they will cut it off, but what will they do with a hundred strong and brave trunks? We just need to work more unitedly, and victory is ours.
At first no one objected to the palm tree: everyone was silent and did not know what to say. Finally, the sago palm made up its mind.
“This is all nonsense,” she said.
- Nonsense! Nonsense! - the trees spoke, and everyone at once began to prove to Attalea that she was offering terrible nonsense. - An impossible dream! - they shouted.
- Nonsense! Absurdity! Frames are strong, and we will never break them, and even if we did, so what? People with knives and axes will come, cut off the branches, repair the frames, and everything will go on as before. That's all it will be. that whole pieces will be cut off from us...
- Well, as you wish! - answered Attalea. - Now I know what to do. I will leave you alone: live as you want, grumble at each other, argue over water supplies and remain forever under a glass bell. I will find my way alone. I want to see the sky and the sun not through these bars and glass - and I will see it!
And the palm tree proudly looked with its green top at the forest of its comrades spread out beneath it. None of them dared to say anything to her, only the sago palm quietly said to the cicada neighbor:
- Well, let's see, let's see how they cut off your big head so that you don't get too arrogant, proud girl!
The others, although silent, were still angry with Attalea for her proud words. Only one little grass was not angry with the palm tree and was not offended by its speeches. It was the most pitiful and despicable grass of all the plants in the greenhouse: loose, pale, creeping, with limp, plump leaves. There was nothing remarkable about it, and it was used in the greenhouse only to cover the bare ground. She wrapped herself around the foot of a large palm tree, listened to her, and it seemed to her that Attalea was right. She did not know southern nature, but she also loved air and freedom. The greenhouse was a prison for her too. “If I, an insignificant, withered grass, suffer so much without my gray sky, without the pale sun and cold rain, then what must this beautiful and mighty tree suffer in captivity! - so she thought and gently wrapped herself around the palm tree and caressed it. - Why am I not a big tree? I would take the advice. We would grow up together and be released together. Then the others would see that Attalea is right.”
In one large city there was a botanical garden, and in this garden there was a huge greenhouse made of iron and glass. It was very beautiful: slender twisted columns supported the entire building; light patterned arches rested on them, intertwined with a whole web of iron frames into which glass was inserted. The greenhouse was especially beautiful when the sun set and illuminated it with red light. Then she was all on fire, red reflections played and shimmered, as if in a huge, finely polished gem.
Through the thick transparent glass one could see the imprisoned plants. Despite the size of the greenhouse, it was cramped for them. The roots intertwined with each other and took away moisture and food from each other. The branches of the trees mixed with the huge leaves of palm trees, bent and broke them, and themselves, leaning on the iron frames, bent and broke. The gardeners constantly cut off the branches and tied the leaves with wires so that they could not grow wherever they wanted, but this did not help much. Plants needed wide open space, a native land and freedom. They were natives of hot countries, gentle, luxurious creatures; they remembered their homeland and yearned for it. No matter how transparent the glass roof is, it is not a clear sky. Sometimes, in winter, the windows froze; then it became completely dark in the greenhouse. The wind howled, hit the frames and made them tremble. The roof was covered with drifted snow. The plants stood and listened to the howl of the wind and remembered a different wind, warm, moist, which gave them life and health. And they wanted to feel his breeze again, they wanted him to shake their branches, play with their leaves. But in the greenhouse the air was still; unless sometimes a winter storm knocked out the glass, and a sharp, cold stream, full of frost, flew under the arch. Wherever this stream hit, the leaves turned pale, shrank and withered.
But the glass was installed very quickly. The botanical garden was managed by an excellent scientific director and did not allow any disorder, despite the fact that most of his time was spent studying with a microscope in a special glass booth built in the main greenhouse.
There was one palm tree among the plants, taller than all and more beautiful than all. The director, sitting in the booth, called her Attalea in Latin! But this name was not her native name: it was invented by botanists. The botanists did not know the native name, and it was not written in soot on a white board nailed to the trunk of a palm tree. Once a visitor came to the botanical garden from that hot country where the palm tree grew; when he saw her, he smiled because she reminded him of his homeland.
- A! - he said. - I know this tree. - And he called him by his native name.
“Excuse me,” the director shouted to him from his booth, who at that time was carefully cutting some kind of stem with a razor, “you are mistaken.” Such a tree as you are deigning to say does not exist. This is Attalea princeps, originally from Brazil.
“Oh yes,” said the Brazilian, “I fully believe you that botanists call it Attalea, but it also has a native, real name.”
“The real name is the one given by science,” the botanist said dryly and locked the door of the booth so that he would not be disturbed by people who did not even understand that if a man of science said anything, one must remain silent and obey.
And the Brazilian stood for a long time and looked at the tree, and he became sadder and sadder. He remembered his homeland, its sun and sky, its luxurious forests with wonderful animals and birds, its deserts, its wonderful southern nights. And he also remembered that he had never been happy anywhere except his native land, and he had traveled all over the world. He touched the palm tree with his hand, as if saying goodbye to it, and left the garden, and the next day he was already on the boat home.
But the palm tree remained. Now it has become even harder for her, although before this incident it was very difficult. She was all alone. She towered five fathoms above the tops of all other plants, and these other plants did not like her, envied her and considered her proud. This growth gave her only one grief; besides the fact that everyone was together, and she was alone, she remembered her native sky better than anyone and yearned for it most of all, because she was closest to what replaced it for them: the ugly glass roof. Through it she sometimes saw something blue: it was the sky, although alien and pale, but still a real blue sky. And when the plants chatted among themselves, Attalea was always silent, sad and thought only about how nice it would be to stand even under this pale sky.
– Tell me, please, will we be watered soon? - asked the sago palm, which loved dampness very much. “I really think I’m going to dry out today.”
“Your words surprise me, neighbor,” said the pot-bellied cactus. – Is the huge amount of water that is poured on you every day not enough for you? Look at me: they give me very little moisture, but I am still fresh and juicy.
“We are not used to being too thrifty,” answered the sago palm. – We cannot grow in such dry and crappy soil as some cacti. We are not used to living somehow. And besides all this, I will also tell you that you are not asked to make comments.
Having said this, the sago palm became offended and fell silent.
“As for me,” Cinnamon intervened, “I’m almost happy with my situation.” True, it’s a little boring here, but at least I’m sure that no one will rip me off.
“But not all of us were fleeced,” said the tree fern. - Of course, this prison may seem like paradise to many after the miserable existence they led in freedom.
Then cinnamon, having forgotten that she had been skinned, became offended and began to argue. Some plants stood up for her, some for the fern, and a heated argument began. If they could move, they would certainly fight.
- Why are you quarreling? - said Attalea. - Will you help yourself with this? You only increase your misfortune with anger and irritation. Better leave your arguments and think about business. Listen to me: grow higher and wider, spread out your branches, press against the frames and glass, our greenhouse will crumble into pieces, and we will go free. If one branch hits the glass, then, of course, they will cut it off, but what will they do with a hundred strong and brave trunks? We just need to work more unitedly, and victory is ours.
At first no one objected to the palm tree: everyone was silent and did not know what to say. Finally, the sago palm made up its mind.
“This is all nonsense,” she said.
- Nonsense! Nonsense! - the trees spoke, and everyone at once began to prove to Attalea that she was offering terrible nonsense. - An impossible dream! - they shouted.
- Nonsense! Absurdity! Frames are strong, and we will never break them, and even if we did, so what? People with knives and axes will come, cut off the branches, repair the frames, and everything will go on as before. That's all it will be. that whole pieces will be cut off from us...
- Well, as you wish! - answered Attalea. - Now I know what to do. I will leave you alone: live as you want, grumble at each other, argue over water supplies and remain forever under a glass bell. I will find my way alone. I want to see the sky and the sun not through these bars and glass - and I will see it!
And the palm tree proudly looked with its green top at the forest of its comrades spread out beneath it. None of them dared to say anything to her, only the sago palm quietly said to the cicada neighbor:
- Well, let's see, let's see how they cut off your big head so that you don't get too arrogant, proud girl!
The others, although silent, were still angry with Attalea for her proud words. Only one little grass was not angry with the palm tree and was not offended by its speeches. It was the most pitiful and despicable grass of all the plants in the greenhouse: loose, pale, creeping, with limp, plump leaves. There was nothing remarkable about it, and it was used in the greenhouse only to cover the bare ground. She wrapped herself around the foot of a large palm tree, listened to her, and it seemed to her that Attalea was right. She did not know southern nature, but she also loved air and freedom. The greenhouse was a prison for her too. “If I, an insignificant, withered grass, suffer so much without my gray sky, without the pale sun and cold rain, then what must this beautiful and mighty tree suffer in captivity! - so she thought and gently wrapped herself around the palm tree and caressed it. - Why am I not a big tree? I would take the advice. We would grow up together and be released together. Then the others would see that Attalea is right.”
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VSEVOLOD MIKHAILOVICH GARSHIN
2010 MARKS 155 years since the birth of Vsevolod Mikhailovich Garshin
RUSSIAN WRITER
Date of birth: February 2, 1855 Place of birth: Ekaterinoslav province Date of death: March 24, 1888 Place of death: St. Petersburg
The Garshin family is an old noble family descended, according to legend, from Murza Gorsha, a native of the Golden Horde under Ivan III.
Already as a child, Garshin was extremely nervous and impressionable, which was facilitated by too early mental development (he subsequently suffered from attacks of nervous breakdown).
He studied at the Mining Institute, but did not graduate. The war with the Turks interrupted his studies: he volunteered for active duty in the army and was wounded in the leg; After retiring, he devoted himself to literary activities.
In 1880, shocked by the death penalty of the young revolutionary, Garshin became mentally ill and was placed in a mental hospital.
On March 19, 1888, Garshin, after a painful, sleepless night, left his apartment, went down the floor below and threw himself down the stairs. They picked him up, broken, with a broken leg, and carried him into the apartment.
He remained conscious for several hours, then he was transported to the Red Cross hospital, where, soon after arrival, he fell into an unconscious state and did not emerge from it until his death. On March 24, 1888, Vsevolod Mikhailovich Garshin died without regaining consciousness.
LIVED 33 YEARS
CREATIVITY OF VSEVOLOD GARSHIN
Preview:
NOTES
Literature 5th grade
Lesson type: combined
The purpose of the lesson : analysis of a work of art
Tasks:
Educational:introduce the biography of V.M. Garshin, the fairy tale “Attalea Princeps”, the ideological, semantic and artistic content of the work.
Educational: develop interpretive skills piece of art, develop oral speech, develop imaginative and logical thinking, develop the creative abilities of students.
Educational: education of morality and ethics through understanding the meaning of a work of art.
Equipment: computer, multimedia projector, Smart Board interactive whiteboard, attributes, presentation.
In one large city there was a botanical garden, and in this garden there was a huge greenhouse made of iron and glass. It was very beautiful: slender twisted columns supported the entire building; light patterned arches rested on them, intertwined with a whole web of iron frames into which glass was inserted.
The greenhouse was especially beautiful when the sun set and illuminated it with red light. Then she was all on fire, red reflections played and shimmered, as if in a huge, finely polished gem. Through the thick transparent glass one could see the imprisoned plants.
The botanical garden was run by an excellent scientific director and did not allow any disorder, despite the fact that most of his time was spent studying with a microscope in a special glass booth built in the main greenhouse.
There was one palm tree among the plants, taller than all and more beautiful than all. The director, sitting in the booth, called her Attalea in Latin! But this name was not her native name: it was invented by botanists. The botanists did not know the native name, and it was not written in soot on a white board nailed to the trunk of a palm tree. Once a visitor came to the botanical garden from that hot country where the palm tree grew; when he saw her, he smiled because she reminded him of his homeland.
- A! - he said. - I know this tree. - And he called him by his native name.
“Excuse me,” the director shouted to him from his booth, who at that time was carefully cutting some kind of stem with a razor, “you are mistaken.” Such a tree as you are deigning to say does not exist. This is Attalea princeps, originally from Brazil.
“Oh yes,” said the Brazilian, “I fully believe you that botanists call it Attalea, but it also has a native, real name.”
“The real name is the one given by science,” the botanist said dryly and locked the door of the booth so that he would not be disturbed by people who did not even understand that if a man of science said anything, one must remain silent and obey.
And the Brazilian stood for a long time and looked at the tree, and he became sadder and sadder.
He remembered his homeland, its sun and sky, its luxurious forests with wonderful animals and birds, its deserts, its wonderful southern nights. And he also remembered that he had never been happy anywhere except his native land, and he had traveled all over the world.
He touched the palm tree with his hand, as if saying goodbye to it, and left the garden, and the next day he was already on the boat home. But the palm tree remained. Now it has become even harder for her, although before this incident it was very difficult. She was all alone.
– Tell me, please, will we be watered soon? - asked the sago palm, which loved dampness very much. “I really think I’m going to dry out today.”
“Your words surprise me, neighbor,” said the pot-bellied cactus. – Is the huge amount of water that is poured on you every day not enough for you? Look at me: they give me very little moisture, but I am still fresh and juicy.
“We are not used to being too thrifty,” answered the sago palm. – We cannot grow in such dry and crappy soil as some cacti. We are not used to living somehow. And besides all this, I will also tell you that you are not asked to make comments.
Having said this, the sago palm became offended and fell silent.
“As for me,” Cinnamon intervened, “I’m almost happy with my situation.” True, it’s a little boring here, but at least I’m sure that no one will rip me off.
“But not all of us were fleeced,” said the tree fern. - Of course, this prison may seem like paradise to many after the miserable existence they led in freedom.
Then cinnamon, having forgotten that she had been skinned, became offended and began to argue. Some plants stood up for her, some for the fern, and a heated argument began. If they could move, they would certainly fight.
- Why are you quarreling? - said Attalea. - Will you help yourself with this? You only increase your misfortune with anger and irritation. Better leave your arguments and think about business. Listen to me: grow higher and wider, spread out your branches, press against the frames and glass, our greenhouse will crumble into pieces, and we will go free. If one branch hits the glass, then, of course, they will cut it off, but what will they do with a hundred strong and brave trunks? We just need to work more unitedly, and victory is ours.
At first no one objected to the palm tree: everyone was silent and did not know what to say. Finally, the sago palm made up its mind.
“This is all nonsense,” she said.
- Nonsense! Nonsense! - the trees spoke, and everyone at once began to prove to Attalea that she was offering terrible nonsense.
- An impossible dream! - they shouted.
- Nonsense! Absurdity! Frames are strong, and we will never break them, and even if we did, so what? People with knives and axes will come, cut off the branches, repair the frames, and everything will go on as before. The only thing that will happen is that whole pieces will be cut off from us...
- Well, as you wish! - answered Attalea. - Now I know what to do. I will leave you alone: live as you want, grumble at each other, argue over water supplies and remain forever under a glass bell. I will find my way alone. I want to see the sky and the sun not through these bars and glass - and I will see it!
And the palm tree proudly looked with its green top at the forest of its comrades spread out beneath it. None of them dared to say anything to her, only the sago palm quietly said to the cicada neighbor:
- Well, let's see, let's see how they cut off your big head so that you don't get too arrogant, proud girl!
The others, although silent, were still angry with Attalea for her proud words.
Only one little grass was not angry with the palm tree and was not offended by its speeches. It was the most pitiful and despicable grass of all the plants in the greenhouse: loose, pale, creeping, with limp, plump leaves. There was nothing remarkable about it, and it was used in the greenhouse only to cover the bare ground. She wrapped herself around the foot of a large palm tree, listened to her, and it seemed to her that Attalea was right. She did not know southern nature, but she also loved air and freedom. The greenhouse was a prison for her too.
But she was not a big tree, but only small and limp grass. She could only curl herself even more tenderly around the trunk of Attalea and whisper to her her love and desire for happiness in an attempt.
- Of course, it’s not so warm here, the sky is not so clear, the rains are not as luxurious as in your country, but still we have the sky, the sun, and the wind. We don’t have such lush plants as you and your comrades, with such huge leaves and beautiful flowers, but we also have very good trees: pine, spruce and birch. I am a little grass and will never reach freedom, but you are so great and strong! Your trunk is hard, and you don't have long to grow to the glass roof. You will break through it and emerge into the light of day. Then you will tell me if everything is as wonderful there as it was. I'll be happy with this too.
“Why, little grass, don’t you want to go out with me?” My trunk is hard and strong: lean on it, crawl along me. It doesn't mean anything to me to tear you down.
- No, where should I go! Look how lethargic and weak I am: I can’t even lift one of my branches. No, I'm not your friend. Grow up, be happy. I just ask you, when you are released, sometimes remember your little friend!
Then the palm tree began to grow. And before, visitors to the greenhouse were surprised at her enormous growth, and she became taller and taller every month. Director botanical garden attributed such rapid growth good care and was proud of the knowledge with which he built the greenhouse and conducted his business.
And she grew, spending all the juices just to stretch out, and depriving her roots and leaves of them. Sometimes it seemed to her that the distance to the arch was not decreasing. Then she strained all her strength. The frames grew closer and closer, and finally the young leaf touched the cold glass and iron.
“Look, look,” the plants started talking, “where she got to!” Will it really be decided?
“How terribly she has grown,” said the tree fern.
- Well, I've grown! What a surprise! If only she could get as fat as I have! - said a fat cicada, with a barrel like a barrel.
- Why are you waiting? It won't do anything anyway. The grilles are strong and the glass is thick.
Another month has passed. Attalea rose. Finally she rested tightly against the frames. There was nowhere to grow further. Then the trunk began to bend. Its leafy top was crumpled, the cold rods of the frame dug into the tender young leaves, cut and mutilated them, but the tree was stubborn, did not spare the leaves, no matter what it put pressure on the bars, and the bars were already giving way, although they were made of strong iron. The little grass watched the fight and froze with excitement.
- Tell me, doesn’t it really hurt you? If the frames are so strong, isn't it better to retreat? - she asked the palm tree.
- Hurt? What does it mean it hurts when I want to go free? Wasn't it you who encouraged me? - answered the palm tree.
– Yes, I encouraged, but I didn’t know it was so difficult. I feel sorry for you. You are suffering so much.
- Shut up, weak plant! Do not feel sorry for me! I'll die or get free!
And at that moment there was a loud blow. A thick iron strip broke. Glass fragments fell and rang. One of them hit the director's hat as he was leaving the greenhouse.
- What it is? – he screamed, shuddering as he saw pieces of glass flying through the air. He ran away from the greenhouse and looked at the roof. The straightened green crown of a palm tree rose proudly above the glass vault.
"Only that? - she thought. – And this is all that I languished and suffered for so long? And to achieve this was my highest goal?”
It was deep autumn when Attalea straightened its top into the hole it had made. It was drizzling with light rain and snow; the wind drove gray ragged clouds low.
And Attalea realized that it was all over for her. She froze. Back under the roof again? But she could no longer return. She had to stand in the cold wind, feel its gusts and the sharp touch of snowflakes, look at the dirty sky, at the impoverished nature, at the dirty backyard of the botanical garden, at the boring huge city visible in the fog, and wait until the people down there in the greenhouse, they won’t decide what to do with it. The director ordered the tree to be cut down.
“We could build a special cap over it,” he said, “but how long will that last?” She will grow again and break everything. And besides, it will cost too much. Cut her down!
They tied the palm tree with ropes so that when it fell it would not break the walls of the greenhouse, and they sawed it low, at the very root. The little grass that was twining around the tree trunk did not want to part with its friend and also fell under the saw. When the palm tree was pulled out of the greenhouse, on the section of the remaining stump lay crushed by a saw, torn stems and leaves.
“Tear out this rubbish and throw it away,” said the director. “It has already turned yellow, and the saw has spoiled it a lot.” Plant something new here.
One of the gardeners, with a deft blow of his spade, tore out an entire armful of grass. He threw it into a basket, carried it out and threw it out into the backyard, right on top of a dead palm tree lying in the dirt and already half-buried with snow.
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<Презентация.Слайд1>
Goals:
- Continued acquaintance with literary fairy tale using the example of V. M. Garshin’s work “Attalea princeps”.
- Understanding the content of the fairy tale and its main idea.
- Development of skills in analyzing literary texts and careful attention to words.
Equipment:
- Literary text (textbook-reader by V. Ya. Korovina for 5th grade).
- Computer.
- Projector.
- During the classes
1. Greeting.
Setting goals and objectives.
<Презентация.Слайд2>
Conversation
For conversation, you can use the textbook article "Russian Literary Fairy Tale"
What is called a literary fairy tale?
<Презентация.Слайд3>
Give examples of literary fairy tales, name their authors.
The guys give examples of the works they read - fairy tales by A.S. Pushkin, V.A. Zhukovsky, V.F. Odoevsky, A. Pogorelsky, V.M. Garshin, K.G. Paustovsky, S.Ya. Marshak, G.- X. Andersen et al.
What works of V. M. Garshin have you already read?
Works by V. M. Garshin “The Frog-Traveller”, “The Tale of the Toad and the Rose”.
<Презентация.Слайд4>
Why are the works of this writer interesting for us?
In his works, like in a fable, heroes and events teach us something, but do not say it directly, but hint at it so that we can draw the conclusion ourselves.
3. Analysis of the work.
Have you read the fairy tale by V. M. Garshin " Attalea Princeps." Did you like it?
Discussion of children's impressions of the work they read.
Garshin's text is a riddle that must be painstakingly solved, learning to read between the lines - looking for semantic ideological subtext.
The plot of the fairy tale "Attalea Princeps" was developed by Garshin back in 1876 in the poem "The Captive".
<Презентация.Слайд5>
The epigraph to our lesson will be the words from this poem:
Beautiful palm tree with high top
There is a knock on the glass roof;
Glass is broken, iron is bent,
And the path to freedom is open:
We’ll talk about the palm tree’s path to freedom today in class.
Where does the narrative of “Attalea Princeps” by V. M. Garshin begin?
From the description of the greenhouse.
How does Garshin talk about her? (we read out the episode)
"She was very beautiful:" We admire the greenhouse as a wonderful work of art. The writer even compares it to a precious stone.
Why does the description of the greenhouse then suddenly change its tone? Did the plants live so well in this beautiful greenhouse?
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Let's find it in the text and write it down keywords talking about this life:
- Prisoner plants
- Closely
- They took moisture and food from each other
- Bent and broke
- Couldn't grow where they wanted
- The air is still
Conclusion. For plants, the greenhouse was a real prison; it’s not for nothing that the author calls the plants “prisoners.”
What did the plants need, what did they dream about?
The plants were homesick. “Plants needed wide space, a native land and freedom. They were natives of hot countries, gentle, luxurious creatures:”
“No matter how transparent the roof is, it is not a clear sky” - with these words the author contrasts“native land and freedom” in a cramped and dark greenhouse.
In Garshin's fairy tale plants act like people, they even have different reasoning and thoughts, different attitudes to what is happening. What is the character of plants?
Episodes from "Attalea Princeps" are read out.
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- The sago palm is angry, irritated, arrogant, arrogant, envious.
- The pot-bellied cactus is rosy, fresh, juicy, happy with its life.
- Cinnamon - hides behind other plants (“no one will rip me off”), unpretentious, loves to argue.
- Tree fern - not entirely happy with its position, but does not seek to change anything.
Tell us about Attalea Princeps. Why this name?
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This is what the director called the palm tree in Latin. This name was not native to the palm tree; it was invented by botanists. The palm tree was taller and more beautiful than all of them.
Latin language- a dead language that is the ancestor of modern ones Romance languages. Perhaps the palm tree was doomed from the very moment it entered the greenhouse and was given a “dead” name? After all, they say that the name determines fate.
Among the characters in the fairy tale are two very different people: the director of the greenhouse and the traveler from Brazil. What makes them different? Which of them is closer to the main character of the fairy tale?
The director is a man of science, cares only about external well-being, soulless, not understanding that plants can experience, feel pain: ": with a satisfied look, he patted the hard tree with a cane, and the blows rang loudly throughout the greenhouse. The leaves of the palm tree trembled from these blows. Oh, if only she could moan , what a cry of anger the director would have heard!”
Brazilian - argues with the director about the name of the palm tree, he knows it native, real name. Looking at the palm tree, he remembers his homeland. He understands the palm tree, its loneliness and the fact that only in one’s homeland one can be happy.
Why was the meeting with the Brazilian decisive for Palma?
The Brazilian is the last thread connecting the palm tree with its homeland. It was as if he had said goodbye to her. Perhaps at this moment Attalea most acutely felt her loneliness, the hopelessness of the situation.
Why didn’t the palm tree’s desire for freedom find support from other trees? What did they care about? What were you proud of? Why were they hostile to the palm tree?
All the plants yearned for their homeland and freedom. But only Attalea and the little grass resisted such a life and wanted to break free. The rest are just have adapted to prison. They are experiencing fear for their lives, they are afraid of changes. The plants are angry with Attalea for her proud words. They hate her for her pride, for her love of freedom, for the fact that she was not stopped by the thought of “men with knives and axes” who would come and cut off her branches if she raised her top too high.
Perhaps they envy the palm tree because it has the strength to achieve its dreams.
Why did grass, unlike other plants, understand the palm tree?
“She did not know southern nature, but she also loved air and freedom. The greenhouse was a prison for her too.”
How does weed make us feel?
We feel sorry for her and admire her ability to sympathize and understand the feelings of the palm tree. She becomes a true friend to Attalea, wanting to help her with all her heart.
How did the palm tree fight for freedom? What price did she pay for the desire to see the real sky?
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“Then the trunk began to bend. Its leafy top was crumpled, the cold rods of the frame dug into the tender young leaves, cut and mutilated them, but the tree was stubborn, did not spare the leaves, no matter what, it pressed on the bars, and the bars were already giving in, although they were made of strong iron."
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The palm tree has achieved its goal. How did the fairy tale end? Why did the director decide to cut down the palm tree?
Building a special canopy over a palm tree is expensive.
What feelings do we experience when we read about how a palm tree died?
Pity for Attalea, hatred for the director, but at the same time admiration and respect for the palm tree.
Why did the director order the little weed to be thrown away?
“Tear out this rubbish and throw it away: It has already turned yellow, and the saw has spoiled it a lot. Plant something new here.”
What thoughts arise after reading the fairy tale? What did the author want to tell us with this work?
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- All plants feel pain, all have a soul.
- It is very difficult when others do not understand you, when they are hostile.
- The contradiction between dreams and acquired reality.
Everything in this work is built on opposition, contrast. Find those contrasting lines.
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- Beautiful greenhouse - prisoner plants
- Images of the director and the Brazilian
- Plants - Attalea
- The pride of the director is the pride of Attalea
- Dream and reality
4. Homework.
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Answer the question in writing: What feelings did you experience while reading V.M.’s fairy tale? Garshin "Attalea Princeps"? How did they change? Why?