When I think of their wandering life, free from all restraint, when I remember their courage, which to them is the highest of virtues, when I consider how truly equal all those worthy of equality are, I ask myself whether after all they are not happier than we Europeans?
Their life is a hard one, and their habits are frugal, but has not custom made this life natural to them, and are they really sensible of its privations?
Good fortune with them is the reward of the brave who know how to win the victory, and it is in razzis that the victory is gained. To spoil the vanquished is also to wash out the stain of an hereditary injury, for the vendetta is not confined to Italy, but often makes friendship impossible between certain tribes in Africa. The goods of him who perishes by the sword are the property of the wielder of that sword, and the death of the vanquished avenges some pillaged or massacred ancestor, as well as enriches the conqueror.
A rough rendering is given below of the Song of R’Otman, quoted by Duveyrier, who justly calls it the Tuareg Marseillaise, which is chanted in defiance of the Chambas by the Azgueurs, who are their hereditary enemies.
Death to thy mother! Ma’atalla the devil is in thee!
Call’st thou the Tuaregs traitors, the men of the plain?
Ha! but they know how to travel, to fight in the battle,
Sally at morn and return in the evening again!
Aye, and they know how to fall on the enemy sleeping—
Sleeping at ease in the tent with his flocks at his side,