To quote his own words:
“By the autumn of 1880 I was within sight of that long and arduous career called the literary life. An extraordinary good fortune met me at the outset, for, through an introduction from Sir Noel Paton, I came to know, and know intimately, Dante Gabriel Rossetti, whose winsome personality fascinated me as much as his great genius impressed me. Rossetti introduced me to one who became my chief friend—the late Philip Bourke Marston; and through Rossetti also I came to know Mr. Theodore Watts, Mr. Swinburne, and others. By the spring of 1881, I was in the literary world, and in every phase of it, from the most Bohemian to the most isolated.”
On the 1st of September, 1881, William Sharp presented himself at the door of 16 Cheyne Walk. The housekeeper explained that Mr. Rossetti could receive no one. The importunate stranger persisted and stated that it was of the highest importance that he should see Mr. Rossetti and so impressed her that she not only went to report to Mr. Rossetti but came back with orders to admit him. On seeing his eager visitor, the poet-painter naturally asked him what he wanted so urgently, and his visitor answered promptly, “Only to shake hands with you before you die!” “Well,” was the answer, “I am in no immediate danger of dying, but you may shake hands if you wish.”
The introduction from Sir Noel Paton was then tendered; and thus began a friendship that grew to a deep affectionate devotion on the side of the younger man.
Rossetti took him into the studio, and showed him the paintings he had on his easels. The two which specially impressed his visitor were “La Donna della Fenestra,” and “Dante’s Dream.” In a letter written to me when I was in Italy, he describes the pictures as beautiful colour harmonies, and continues:
“After I had looked at it for a long time in happy silence, Rossetti sat behind me in the shadow and read me his translation of the poem from the Vita Nuova, which refers to Dante’s Dream. Was it not kind of him to give so much pleasure to one, a complete stranger? I also saw several other paintings of extreme beauty, but which I have no time to mention at present. He told me to come again, and shortly before I left he asked me for my address, and said that he would ask me to come some evening to talk with him, and also to meet one or two. This was altogether unexpected. Fancy having two such men for friends as Sir Noel Paton and Dante Gabriel Rossetti! I went out in a dream. The outside world was altogether idealised. I was in the golden age again. To calm myself, I went and leant over Chelsea Embankment, where there were many people as there was a regatta going on. But, though conscious of external circumstances, I was not in London. The blood of the South burned in my veins, the sky was a semi-tropical one: the river rushing past was not the Thames, but the Tiber; the granite embankment was a marble aqueduct, with vines laden with ripe fruit covering it with a fragrant veil: citrons and pomegranates were all around. Dark passionate eyes of the South met mine; the dreamy sweetness of a strange tongue sang an ineffably delicious song through and through my soul: I sank into the utmost realms of reverie, and drank a precious draught of alien life for only too brief a space. Not De Quincey in the mystic rapture of opium, not Mohammed in his vision of Paradise, drank deeper of the ineffable wine of the Supreme and Unattainable.”
It was several weeks before the much-hoped-for invitation came, and the recipient was feeling so ill that he was hardly in a condition to take full advantage of it, and feared he had made a bad impression on his host. The following morning he wrote:
19 Albert St., Regent’s Park N.W.,
31: 1: 80.