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Edgar Allan Poe Museum

© Judith Stock

Inspired by a set of gift-books brought back by a friend from the Edgar Allan Poe Museum in Richmond, Virginia, I decided to do some detective work of my own. As part of the book set, the classic tales of mystery and intrigue included "The Gold-Bug and Other Tales," that I remembered reading as a student. In my English literature classes in high school and as an English major in college, I thought I had covered Poe, the grand master of suspense. But here was a museum dedicated solely to his life and his relationship to Richmond.

The Poe Museum provides a retreat into early nineteenth century Richmond where Edgar Allan Poe lived and worked. Opened in 1922 the Old Stone House that is the museum includes another four structures that document the poet's accomplishments with pictures, relics, and verse.

Among the museum collection is a diorama of the city of Richmond during the era that Poe inhabited the city. Poe was raised there, he married there, and there is where he first gained national recognition on the staff of the Southern Literary Messenger. Trace his steps to the Exchange Hotel where he gave his last public address. Fond of calling himself a Virginian, he did spent the better part of his life in Richmond.

Enjoy a walk through the Enchanted Garden, a walled garden of evergreens, flowers and manicured lawn. Then take a turn into the museum gift shop, where you can purchase "The Raven" on parchment paper, buy a reprint of an original James Carling illustrations or browse through the large collection for books on Edgar Allan Poe.

Showcased in the Exhibition Hall of the museum are the furnishings from the 14th Street Allan home where the poet grew up including Poe's childhood bed, a coverlet, and a mantle arranged to re-create young Edgar's bedroom. Across the hall is The Raven Room displaying a collection of illustrations created by the artist James Carling in the 1880s for Poe's most famous and unforgetable poem "The Raven."

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore- While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping - rapping at my chamber door. "'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door - Only this and nothing more."

(next week's preview: Cranbrook Academy of Art in Bloomfield Hills, Michigan)

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