Our happy and soul moving time together reached a climax, when we one February day were invited to Richard Dehmel who had a villa in Pankow, in those days a rural suburb of Berlin.
The PRzybyszewskis had found a small house nearby too. In addition to these two, the guests were Munch, Gallén, Vigeland, Obstfelder and I.
It was a "künstlerabend" of the best, and lasted for a day and a night at least, I think for longer. Even Obstfelder was forced to declare a few of his poems, with Duchna as interpreter, and already his strange hushed way of declaring gave the strangers some insight into the character and new rhythm of the poems.
Vigeland showed som photographs of his works, 'Helvede' ("Hell") and the first passionate love groups were deemed the most interesting. Munch chattered on with his jumping and exciting paradoxes. The music was provided by Staszu, who played Schumann and Chopin with his entire temper, and Obstfelder, who often carried his violin with him, played Grieg, Svendsen and Bach.
It was really a lovely evening. But Mrs. Dehmel was a strict lady who thought everything should come to an end. We didn't, so the party was moved over to Staszu and Ducha's place. Then, the host disappeared, before reappearing, not in his bed, but out in the outhouse, sitting high up on a pile of firewood, buck naked. Here, he sat playing Satanas all by himself, the madman! That was how strongly Vigeland's 'Helvede' had affected him."
– Jens Thiis i Edvard Munch og hans samtid