Все вы знакомы с переводами "говорящих" фамилий/мест из англоязычной литературы в виде Фродо Торбинсов, Бэггинсов, Гнилоустов, Чваннингов, Лютных переулков и пр. А вот так выглядит обратное явление: перевод "Лошадиной фамилии" Чехова на английский. Сразу и не поймешь, что дело происходит в России - русская морфология фамилий вычищена нaхyй (даже для хоббитов оставляли подобие английской формы: не "Сумкин", а именно "Сумкинс"). Короче, задание для читателей. Как, по вашему мнению, всё-таки перевели ту самую лошадиную фамилию? Не гуглить. Варианты - в каменты. ===== Фрагмент текста в читабельном виде: "Just a minute! Jacob—Jacob—I can't remember it ! It's a common name too, something to do with a horse. Is it Mayres.? No it isn't Mayres— Wait a bit, is it Colt? No, it isn't Colt. I know perfectly well it's a horsey name, but it has absolutely gone out of my head !" "It isn't Filley?" "No, no—wait a jiffy. Maresfield, Maresden—Farrier—Harrier—" "That's a doggy name, not a horsey one. Is it Foley?" "No, no, it isn't Foley. Just a second—Horseman—Horsey—Hackney. No, it isn't any of those." "Then how am I to send that telegram? Think a little harder!" "One moment! Carter—Coltsford—Shafter—" "Shaftsbury?" suggested the general's wife. "No, no— Whееlеr —no, that isn't it! I've forgotten it!" "Then why on earth did you come pestering me with your advice, if you couldn't remember the man's name?" stormed the general. "Get out of here!" Ivan went slowly out, and the general clutched his cheek, and went rushing through the house. "Ouch! Oh Lord!" he howled. "Oh, mother! Ouch! I'm as blind as a bat!" The steward went into the garden, and, raising his eyes to heaven, tried to remember the exciseman's name. "Hunt—Hunter—Huntley. No, that's wrong! Cobb—Cobden—Dobbins—Maresly—" Shortly afterward, the steward was again summoned by his master. "Well, have you thought of it?" asked the general. "No, not yet, your Excellency!" "Is it Barnes?" asked the general. "Is it Palfrey, by any chance?" Every one in the house began madly to invent names. Horses of every possible age, breed, and sex were considered; their names, hoofs, and harness were all thought of. People were frantically walking up and down in the house, garden, servants' quarters, and kitchen, all scratching their heads, and searching for the right name. Suddenly the steward was sent for again. "Is it Herder?" they asked him. "Hocker? Hyde? Groome?" "No, no, no," answered Ivan, and, casting up his eyes, he went on thinking aloud. "Steed—Charger—Horsely—Harness—" "Papa!" cried a voice from the nursery. "Tracey! Bitter!" The whole farm was now In an uproar. The impatient, agonized general promised five roubles to any one who would think of the right name, and a perfect mob began to follow Ivan Evceitch about. "Bayley!" They cried to him. "Trotter! Hackett!"