Strange Tales (Old Time Radio)
Sep 6, 2026 · 26 min · 8 segments
We hear from The Weird Circle this week, with an episode based on a story by Nathaniel Hawthorne titled, *The Curse Of The Mantle*. This one first aired April 2, 1944…
Listen.
The bell has been tolling since the procession began.
Since sundown, its dismal clang has beat upon the town, rung upon it like hammer upon anvil, tolling for the damned.
They are bearing the mantle of Lady Eleanor that we publicly burned.
And from where I stand, here in the dim cemetery above my own grave...
I can see the procession moving slowly through the street.
George Helwes is at the head.
Behind him, upon a litter, gleams the magnificent mantle.
How many eyes, sick with disease, watch this procession? How many dead, like myself, listen to the tread of their feet? How many recall the events that led to this feverish evening in spring? It begins when these dead walked and these diseased laughed.
It begins in her uncle's, the governor's mansion, in the room with a great mirror.
The chandelier was ablaze with candles.
And she stood there, the Lady Eleanor, gazing at herself in the mirror.
Behind her sat George Helwes, her fiancé.
You've stared at your image in the glass a long time, Ellen.
Yes, I
have.
The vanity of women.
Are you dissatisfied at what you see, my love?
Are you,
George? Am I dissatisfied with the lovely summer's day? But come, come look at me.
I'm by far the more eloquent mirror.
That one is silent while I, I proclaim the beauty I see.
Yet the real mirror is more honest.
For it shows me as I really am.
Then I am its voice.
Listen.
The bell has been tolling since the procession began.
Since sundown, its dismal clang has beat upon the town, rung upon it like hammer upon anvil, tolling for the damned.
They are bearing the mantle of Lady Eleanor that we publicly burned.
And from where I stand, here in the dim cemetery above my own grave...
I can see the procession moving slowly through the street.
George Helwes is at the head.
Behind him, upon a litter, gleams the magnificent mantle.
How many eyes, sick with disease, watch this procession? How many dead, like myself, listen to the tread of their feet? How many recall the events that led to this feverish evening in spring? It begins when these dead walked and these diseased laughed.
It begins in her uncle's, the governor's mansion, in the room with a great mirror.
The chandelier was ablaze with candles.
And she stood there, the Lady Eleanor, gazing at herself in the mirror.
Behind her sat George Helwes, her fiancé.
You've stared at your image in the glass a long time, Ellen.
Yes, I
have.
The vanity of women.
Are you dissatisfied at what you see, my love?
Are you,
George? Am I dissatisfied with the lovely summer's day? But come, come look at me.
I'm by far the more eloquent mirror.
That one is silent while I, I proclaim the beauty I see.
Yet the real mirror is more honest.
For it shows me as I really am.
Then I am its voice.
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