When I was a child, my dear Aurora, I was very worried that I could not catch the conversation of flowers. My botany professor assured me they didn't say anything, whether he was deaf or didn't want to tell me the truth, but he insisted that the flowers didn't say anything. I was sure otherwise. I could hear them whispering shyly, especially when the evening dew fell on them, but unfortunately they spoke too softly 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, then in the air some kind of sh-sh-i was heard throughout the space, this sound ran from one flower to another and seemed to want to say: “Let's take care, shut up! Beside us is a child who listens to us.” But I insisted on my own: I tried to walk so quietly that not a single grass stirred under my steps. They calmed down, and I moved closer and closer. Then, so that they would not notice me, I bent down and went under the shade of the trees. Finally, I managed to overhear a lively conversation. It was necessary to concentrate all your attention, because they were such gentle voices, so pleasant and thin that the slightest fresh breeze, the buzzing 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 then taught, but somehow I understood it well. It even seemed to me that I understood this language much better than any other that I had hitherto heard. One evening, in a hidden corner, I lay down on the sand, and I managed to listen very clearly to the whole conversation going on around me. A hum was heard throughout the garden, all the flowers spoke at once, and it did not take much curiosity to learn more than one secret at a time. I remained motionless - and this is how the conversation went among the field red poppies.
Gracious sovereigns and sovereigns! It's time to end this nonsense. 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 do not recognize the right of anyone else be considered better than me in their origin and title.
To this the daisies all answered at once that the orator, the field red poppy, was absolutely right. One of the daisies, which was bigger 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 alike took 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, while we have up to five hundred. As for the color, we have purple and pure blue - exactly the kind that the rose does not have.
And I, - said the big Cavalier Spur with fervor, - I am Princess Delphinia, I have the azure of heaven on my corolla, and my numerous relatives have all pinkish shades. The imaginary queen of flowers can envy us a lot, but as for her vaunted smell ...
I beg you, do not tell me about this, - the field red poppy interrupted her. “Smelling bragging gets on my nerves. What is smell? Explain to me please. You may, for example, think that a rose smells bad, but I smell sweet...
We don’t smell of anything,” said the daisy, “and by this, I hope, we set an example of good tone and taste. Perfume is a sign of indiscretion and vanity. A plant that respects itself does not make itself felt by smell: its beauty is enough for it.
I do not share your opinion! - exclaimed poppy, from which it smelled strongly, - perfume is a sign of health and mind.
The fat poppy's words were covered in laughter. The carnation held on to its sides, and the 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 were pruned, and on new shoots there were only small buds tightly wrapped in their green diapers. Luxuriously dressed Pansies terribly attacked 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 most success - they compared the rose to a large head of cabbage and preferred the latter for its size and usefulness. The stupid things I had to hear drove me to despair, and I, grumbling, spoke in their language:
Shut up! I screamed, pushing those stupid flowers with my foot. - For all the time you did not say anything smart. I thought to hear among you the wonders of poetry, oh, how cruelly deceived I am! You disappoint me with your rivalry, vanity and petty jealousies.
There was a deep silence, and I withdrew from the flower garden. “Let's see,” I said to myself, “maybe wild plants have higher feelings than these educated talkers who, having received beauty from us, also borrowed our prejudices and our falsity.” I slipped through the shady hedge and went to the meadow, I wanted to know if the meadowsweet, which was called the queen of the meadows, was just as envious and proud. But I stopped beside a large wild rose, on which all the flowers spoke together.
“I’ll try to find out,” I thought, “whether the wild rose blackens the capital rose and despises the terry rose.”
Lesson 68 GEORGE SAND "WHAT THE FLOWERS TALK ABOUT". DISPUTE OF HEROES ABOUT THE BEAUTIFUL*
13.05.2015 8000 0Target: introduce children to the artistic world of J. Sand's works; to expand students' understanding of foreign children's literature; develop the ability to analyze a work of art, to form a desire for beauty.
During the classes
I. Organizational stage of the lesson. Creating an emotional mood, setting goals for the lesson.
II. George Sand: biography pages.
Expressive readingintroductory article to the chapter of the textbook.
III. "What Flowers Say" The dispute of heroes about beauty.
A comment: the fairy tale was read by the students at home.
Textbook Conversation(pupils support their answers with quotes from the text).
- What kind of fairy tale "What do the flowers say" can be called: author's or folk? Why?
What does the main character of the story say? Who do you think is right in the dispute: she or the botany teacher? (The main character of the fairy tale “What Flowers Talk About” thinks that she can hear the voices of flowers. The botany teacher believes that flowers do not talk at all. In fact, the teacher is right, because flowers cannot talk like people. At the same time, they are right and girl, because her attention to all living things, sympathy help her seem to hear the voices of plants.)
What were the flowers arguing about? What made them angry? Why did they prove their advantages over the beauty of roses? (Flowers argued about which of them is more beautiful and better. They were outraged that people paid more attention to the rose. They wanted to prove their superiority 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.)
– Pages of which fairy tale created by a Russian writer does this episode resemble? (Fairy tale by V. M. Garshin "Attalea princeps".)
- How is creation and destruction represented in the fairy 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 to us the law of development of all life on Earth.)
- How do you imagine a rose from a fairy tale by George Sand? (The rose possessed the precious gifts of “meekness, beauty and grace.” It was she who was called upon to “charm and reconcile.” The beautiful 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. The grandmother believed her granddaughter because she remembered how she herself was small and also watched the flowers, listened to their voices. As a child, she, like granddaughter understood what the flowers were talking about.)
- How do you understand the words of your grandmother: “I am very sorry for you if you yourself have never heard what the flowers are talking about. I would like to go back to the times when I understood them. These are the properties of children. Do not confuse 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 a person. A disease is a disease. Grandmother believes that properties should not be confused with ailments, that is features of perception with the manifestation of the disease.)
IV. Summing up the lesson.
Homework: write a miniature essay "What a flower (butterfly, stone, tree ...) told me about."
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What do the flowers say
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 they didn't talk about anything. I don't know if he was deaf or hiding the truth from me, but he swore that flowers don't talk at all.
Meanwhile, I knew it wasn't. I myself heard their indistinct babble, especially in the evenings, when the dew was already setting. But they spoke so quietly that I couldn't make out 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 conveyed throughout the row: "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 exert all my attention. The flowers had such thin, gentle voices that the breath of a breeze or the buzzing of some nocturnal 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 it better than other languages I know.
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 is second to none. Let anyone recognize the rose as a queen, but I declare that I have had enough, and I do not consider anyone entitled to call himself more noble than I.
I don't understand what the rose family is so proud of. Tell me, please, is the rose more beautiful and slimmer than me? Nature and art combined to increase the number of our petals and make our colors especially bright. We are undoubtedly richer, since the most luxurious rose has many, many two hundred petals, while ours has up to five hundred. And such shades of lilac and even almost blue, like ours, a rose will never achieve.
I'll tell myself, - the brisk bindweed intervened, - I am Prince Delphinium. Sky blue is reflected in my aureole, and my numerous relatives own all pink overflows. 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 rumors about some kind of aroma. Well, what is the aroma, please tell me? A conventional concept coined 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 astra, - and by this we prove our decency and good manners. The smell indicates indiscretion or boastfulness. A self-respecting flower 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 was distinguished by a strong aroma. - The smell is a reflection of the mind and health.
The voice of the terry poppy was drowned out by friendly laughter. 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 pruned shortly before, and on the young shoots only small buds appeared, tightly tied with green swaddling ropes.
Richly dressed pansies spoke out against double flowers, and since double flowers prevailed in the flower garden, general displeasure began. However, everyone was so envious of the rose that they soon made up with each other and began to vied with each other to ridicule her. It was even compared with a head of cabbage, and they said that a head of cabbage, in any case, is both thicker and more useful. The nonsense I listened to made me impatient, and stamping my foot, I suddenly spoke in the language of flowers:
Shut up! You are all talking 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.
I'll see, I thought, maybe wild flowers are smarter than these swaggering garden plants, which 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 if the spirits, who are called the queens of the field, are just as proud and envious. On the way, I stopped near a large wild rose, 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 skillful gardeners through coloring. Nevertheless, nature did not deprive our area, where a variety of roses grew wild. And in the garden we had a centifolia - a rose with a hundred petals; her homeland is unknown, but her 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 no longer smells like a rose, and all these lovely breeds, which now diversify to infinity, 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 delicate sense of smell, and I certainly wanted the aroma to be considered one of the main signs of a flower. My teacher, who snuffed tobacco, did not share my hobby. He was sensitive only to the smell of tobacco, and if he sniffed any plant, then he assured me later that it tickled his nose.
I listened with all my ears to what the wild rose was talking about above my head, since from the very first words I understood that it was about the origin of the rose.
Stay with us, dear breeze, - the rosehip flowers said. - We have blossomed, and the beautiful roses in the flowerbeds 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 minute, but don't think of being equal to the queen of flowers.
Dear breeze, we respect and adore her, - rosehip flowers answered. - We know how other flowers envy her. They assure us that the rose is no better than us, that it is the daughter of the wild rose and owes its beauty only to tinting 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?
As same, with it connected and my own history. Listen and never forget it!
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 tips of my black wings I touched the opposite points of the horizon. My huge hair was intertwined with clouds. My appearance was majestic and formidable. It was in my power to collect all the clouds from the west and spread them in an impenetrable veil between the Earth and the Sun.
For a long time, with my father and brothers, I reigned 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 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, there was hidden a mighty divine spirit - the spirit of life, which aspired outward and one day, breaking mountains, pushing seas apart, collecting a heap of dust, made its way. We redoubled our efforts, but only contributed to the growth of innumerable 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, floating shells appeared. In vain we drove furious waves at 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 beings to the environment we are overwhelmed with.
What do the flowers say
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 they didn't talk about anything. I don't know if he was deaf or hiding the truth from me, but he swore that flowers don't talk at all.
Meanwhile, I knew it wasn't. I myself heard their indistinct babble, especially in the evenings, when the dew was already setting. But they spoke so quietly that I couldn't make out 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 conveyed throughout the row: "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 exert all my attention. The flowers had such thin, gentle voices that the breath of a breeze or the buzzing of some nocturnal 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 it better than other languages I know.
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 is second to none. Let anyone recognize the rose as a queen, but I declare that I have had enough, and I do not consider anyone entitled to call himself more noble than I.
I don't understand what the rose family is so proud of. Tell me, please, is the rose more beautiful and slimmer than me? Nature and art combined to increase the number of our petals and make our colors especially bright. We are undoubtedly richer, since the most luxurious rose has many, many two hundred petals, while ours has up to five hundred. And such shades of lilac and even almost blue, like ours, a rose will never achieve.
I'll tell myself, - the brisk bindweed intervened, - I am Prince Delphinium. Sky blue is reflected in my aureole, and my numerous relatives own all pink overflows. 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 rumors about some kind of aroma. Well, what is the aroma, please tell me? A conventional concept coined 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 astra, - and by this we prove our decency and good manners. The smell indicates indiscretion or boastfulness. A self-respecting flower 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 was distinguished by a strong aroma. - The smell is a reflection of the mind and health.
The voice of the terry poppy was drowned out by friendly laughter. 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 pruned shortly before, and on the young shoots only small buds appeared, tightly tied with green swaddling ropes.
Richly dressed pansies spoke out against double flowers, and since double flowers prevailed in the flower garden, general displeasure began. However, everyone was so envious of the rose that they soon made up with each other and began to vied with each other to ridicule her. It was even compared with a head of cabbage, and they said that a head of cabbage, in any case, is both thicker and more useful. The nonsense I listened to made me impatient, and stamping my foot, I suddenly spoke in the language of flowers:
Shut up! You are all talking 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.
I'll see, I thought, maybe wild flowers are smarter than these swaggering garden plants, which 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 if the spirits, who are called the queens of the field, are just as proud and envious. On the way, I stopped near a large wild rose, 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 skillful gardeners through coloring. Nevertheless, nature did not deprive our area, where a variety of roses grew wild. And in the garden we had a centifolia - a rose with a hundred petals; her homeland is unknown, but her 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 no longer smells like a rose, and all these lovely breeds, which now diversify to infinity, 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 delicate sense of smell, and I certainly wanted the aroma to be considered one of the main signs of a flower. My teacher, who snuffed tobacco, did not share my hobby. He was sensitive only to the smell of tobacco, and if he sniffed any plant, then he assured me later that it tickled his nose.
I listened with all my ears to what the wild rose was talking about above my head, since from the very first words I understood that it was about the origin of the rose.
Stay with us, dear breeze, - the rosehip flowers said. - We have blossomed, and the beautiful roses in the flowerbeds 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 minute, but don't think of being equal to the queen of flowers.
Dear breeze, we respect and adore her, - rosehip flowers answered. - We know how other flowers envy her. They assure us that the rose is no better than us, that it is the daughter of the wild rose and owes its beauty only to tinting 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?
As same, with it connected and my own history. Listen and never forget it!
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 tips of my black wings I touched the opposite points of the horizon. My huge hair was intertwined with clouds. My appearance was majestic and formidable. It was in my power to collect all the clouds from the west and spread them in an impenetrable veil between the Earth and the Sun.
For a long time, with my father and brothers, I reigned 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 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, there was hidden a mighty divine spirit - the spirit of life, which aspired outward and one day, breaking mountains, pushing seas apart, collecting a heap of dust, made its way. We redoubled our efforts, but only contributed to the growth of innumerable 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, floating shells appeared. In vain we drove furious waves at 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 beings to the environment we are overwhelmed with.
George Sand "What the Flowers Talk About", first included in the textbook of literature for the 5th grade, was conducted by V. A. Boldin (teacher of the Moscow school No. 1666) in a class studying French. The tale is somewhat more complicated than those previously studied by schoolchildren, therefore it is referred to the very end of the school year in order to test the ability of students who, with the help of a teacher, a textbook and literature lessons, to acquire the skills and abilities of a competent, “talented” reader for a whole year, to understand what the author intended.
On the board are the words of A. S. Pushkin familiar and familiar to students:
“The tale is a lie, but there is a hint in it!
Good fellows lesson.
Near the board are portraits of George Sand (at the age of seven and already an adult, famous, well-known writer), a small exhibition of books by the writer and books about her (for example, George Sand's books "The Dog and the Sacred Flower", "Grandmother's Tales", N. Trapeznikova "Romanticism Georges Sand", etc.). On the desks - textbooks with story about the author, the text of the fairy tale “What the flowers are talking about”, questions to it.
Starting the conversation with a repetition of folk and literary tales, V. A. Boldina said that they would have to get acquainted with another, quite unusual literary, or literary, fairy tale by George Sand. Shows portraits, talks about the fact that George Sand is the pseudonym of Aurora Dudevant, a literary name that glorified the writer. Her books made the glory of 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 were her mother and grandmother, that from early childhood Aurora listened to fairy tales, romantic stories that her mother told. With her, the girl learned poetry, fables recited prayers. In the park of her grandmother's estate, the girl listened to stories and legends. Grandmother taught her Latin, natural sciences, music introduced me to literature. Aurora played the harp beautifully. Like her mother, the girl believed in God and eternal life.
Further, the schoolchildren, who have read the fairy tale in advance (another option is also possible - to read the fairy tale in class), say what the fairy tale is about, briefly tell its content (the girl heard flowers talking in the flower garden. They attacked the rose together, not wanting to consider her their queen. And wild rose, a distant relative of the rose, turned to the breeze to tell everyone that the rose is deservedly the queen of flowers). Next, the teacher offers to listen to how the beginning of the tale sounds in the native language of the writer - French (the children expressively read the first paragraph of the tale in French). The conversation then 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 - poppies, asters, bindweed, carnations, introduce themselves in Russian and French.)
What do the flowers in the corner of the flower garden say? Let's listen to their speeches: poppy does not want to recognize the rose as queen. He does not consider anyone entitled to call himself more noble than he. Astra claims that she is more beautiful than a rose because she has more petals. Bindweed is proud that the azure sky is reflected in its corolla, that the rose can only envy him. The field bindweed thinks that roses have an unpleasant smell...
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 envy her.)
How did the flowers react when they heard the story of the rose? (Universal joy, chanting, praising the rose.)
Music by Tchaikovsky. (Waltz of the Flowers from The Nutcracker.) Students read poems in French about roses and flowers.
And now let's get back to Pushkin's words - what lesson does George Sand's fairy 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.: Enlightenment, 2009. - 287 p., L. ill., maps.
Planning lessons in literature online, tasks and answers by class, homework in literature grade 5 download
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