Sep 21, 2026 · 40 min · 11 segments
Lawyer Gabriel Utterson hears a troubling tale about a man named Hyde. When he discovers that Hyde stands to inherit the fortune of his esteemed friend Dr Jekyll, a mystery begins to take shape. Who…
Colin MorganHost
Mr. Utterson, the lawyer, was a man of a rugged countenance that was never lighted by a smile.
Cold, scanty, and embarrassed in discourse, backward in sentiment, lean, long, dusty, dreary, and yet somehow lovable.
At friendly meetings, and when the wine was to his taste, something eminently human beaconed from his eye, something indeed which never found its way into his talk, but which spoke not only in these silent symbols of the after-dinner face, but more often unglibly in the acts of his life.
He was austere with himself, drank gin when he was alone to mortify a taste for vintages, and though he enjoyed the theater, had not crossed the doors of one for twenty years.
But he had an approved tolerance for others, sometimes wondering, almost with envy, at the high pressure of spirits involved in their misdeeds, and in any extremity inclined to help rather than to reprove.
"I let my brother go to the devil in his own way." In this character, it was frequently his fortune to be the last reputable acquaintance and the last good influence in the lives of downgoing men.
And to such as these, so long as they came about his chambers, he never marked a shade of change in his demeanor.
No doubt the feat was easy to Mr. Utterson, for he was undemonstrative at the best, and even his friendship seemed to be founded in a similar catholicity of good nature.
It is the mark of a modest man to accept his friendly circle ready-made from the hands of opportunity, and that was the lawyer's way.
Hence, no doubt the bond that united him to Mr. Richard Enfield, his distant kinsman, the well-known man about town.
It was a nut to crack for many what these two could see in each other, or what subject they could find in common.
It was reported by those who encountered them in their Sunday walks that they said nothing, looked singularly dull, and would hail with obvious relief the appearance of a friend.
For all that, the two men put the greatest store by these excursions, counted them the chief jewel of each week, and not only set aside occasions of pleasure, but even resisted the calls of business that they might enjoy them uninterrupted.
It chanced on one of these rambles that their way led them down a by-street in a busy quarter of London.
The street was small, and what is called quiet, but it drove a thriving trade on the weekdays.
The inhabitants were all doing well, it seemed, and all emulously hoping to do better still, and laying out the surplus of their gains in coquetry, so that the shop fronts stood along that thoroughfare with an air of invitation like rows of smiling saleswomen.
Even on Sunday, when it veiled its more florid charms and lay comparatively empty of passage, the street shone out in contrast to its dingy neighborhood like a fire in a forest, and with its freshly painted shutters, well-polished brasses, and general cleanliness and gaiety of note, instantly caught and pleased the eye of the passenger Two doors from one corner on the left-hand going east, the line was broken by the entry of a court, and just at that point, a certain sinister block of building thrust forward its gable on the street.
It was two stories high, showed no window, nothing but a door on the lower story, and a blind forehead of discolored wall on the upper, and bore in every feature the marks of prolonged and sordid negligence.
The door, which was equipped with neither bell nor knocker, was blistered and disstained.
Mr. Utterson, the lawyer, was a man of a rugged countenance that was never lighted by a smile.
Cold, scanty, and embarrassed in discourse, backward in sentiment, lean, long, dusty, dreary, and yet somehow lovable.
At friendly meetings, and when the wine was to his taste, something eminently human beaconed from his eye, something indeed which never found its way into his talk, but which spoke not only in these silent symbols of the after-dinner face, but more often unglibly in the acts of his life.
He was austere with himself, drank gin when he was alone to mortify a taste for vintages, and though he enjoyed the theater, had not crossed the doors of one for twenty years.
But he had an approved tolerance for others, sometimes wondering, almost with envy, at the high pressure of spirits involved in their misdeeds, and in any extremity inclined to help rather than to reprove.
"I let my brother go to the devil in his own way." In this character, it was frequently his fortune to be the last reputable acquaintance and the last good influence in the lives of downgoing men.
And to such as these, so long as they came about his chambers, he never marked a shade of change in his demeanor.
No doubt the feat was easy to Mr. Utterson, for he was undemonstrative at the best, and even his friendship seemed to be founded in a similar catholicity of good nature.
It is the mark of a modest man to accept his friendly circle ready-made from the hands of opportunity, and that was the lawyer's way.
Hence, no doubt the bond that united him to Mr. Richard Enfield, his distant kinsman, the well-known man about town.
It was a nut to crack for many what these two could see in each other, or what subject they could find in common.
It was reported by those who encountered them in their Sunday walks that they said nothing, looked singularly dull, and would hail with obvious relief the appearance of a friend.
For all that, the two men put the greatest store by these excursions, counted them the chief jewel of each week, and not only set aside occasions of pleasure, but even resisted the calls of business that they might enjoy them uninterrupted.
It chanced on one of these rambles that their way led them down a by-street in a busy quarter of London.
The street was small, and what is called quiet, but it drove a thriving trade on the weekdays.
The inhabitants were all doing well, it seemed, and all emulously hoping to do better still, and laying out the surplus of their gains in coquetry, so that the shop fronts stood along that thoroughfare with an air of invitation like rows of smiling saleswomen.
Even on Sunday, when it veiled its more florid charms and lay comparatively empty of passage, the street shone out in contrast to its dingy neighborhood like a fire in a forest, and with its freshly painted shutters, well-polished brasses, and general cleanliness and gaiety of note, instantly caught and pleased the eye of the passenger Two doors from one corner on the left-hand going east, the line was broken by the entry of a court, and just at that point, a certain sinister block of building thrust forward its gable on the street.
It was two stories high, showed no window, nothing but a door on the lower story, and a blind forehead of discolored wall on the upper, and bore in every feature the marks of prolonged and sordid negligence.
The door, which was equipped with neither bell nor knocker, was blistered and disstained.
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