"As for Grantaire, since noon, he had gone beyond wine, an indifferent source of dreams. Wine, for serious drunks, enjoys only a limited success. There is, concerning inebriation, black magic and white magic; wine is only white magic. Grantaire was a daring drinker of dreams. The blackness of a fearful drunkenness yawning before him, far from checking him, drew him on. He had left the bottle behind and had taken to the jug. The jug is the abyss. Having at hand neither opium nor hashish, and wanting to fill his brain with mist, he had taken recourse in a frightful mixture of brandy, stout, and absinthe which produces such terrible lethargy. It is from these three vapors, beer, brandy, and absinthe, that the lead of soul is formed. They are three shades of night; the celestial butterfly is drowned in them; and there arise, in a membranous smoke vaguely condensed into bat wings, three mute furies—Nightmare, Night, and Death—flitting above the sleeping Psyche."