DIKOY. What sort of lightning conductors are you talking about?
KULIGIN. Steel ones.
DIKOY (wrathfully). Well, and what then?
KULIGIN. Steel rods.
DIKOY (getting more and more furious). I hear they're steel rods, you viper, but what of it? Granted they're steel rods! Well, what of it?
KULIGIN. Nothing.
DIKOY. And what is the cause of a storm to your notions, hey? Come, speak up!
KULIGIN. Electricity.
DIKOY (stamping). 'Lectricity he says! Ah, a brigand you are and no mistake! a storm is sent as a chastisement to make us feel our sins, and you want with rods and tackle of one sort and another, God forgive you, to ward it off! What, are you a Tartar or what? Are you a Tartar? Speak up! A Tartar, hey?
KULIGIN. Saviol Prokofitch, your honour, Derzhavin said: