blood!’
In reality, Spaventa had escaped once more. But the attack was so shocking as to make him overcome his deep-seated abhorrence of public attention. The following day he put on a show of courage by going to lunch at the Caffè d’Europa. That evening he sat in a second tier box on the first night of a new production of Bellini’s Norma at the Teatro San Carlo—the theatre where the rulers of Naples had traditionally made themselves visible to the public that counted. Spaventa even left by the main staircase, under the eyes of a stupefied crowd. He had learned the hard way that Naples could not be governed without a little Spanishry, a little ostentation.
Three months later it became clear that he had learned some other lessons too. In July 1861, in a busy street a short walk from Spaventa’s house, a senior police officer called Ferdinando Mele was stabbed behind the ear in broad daylight; he was dead within hours. Mele embodied all the contradictions of the time and place: a camorrista who had allied himself with the patriots, he was one of the chief suspects in the murder of Aversa Joe; hewas then recruited into the police by Liborio Romano in June 1860 and put in charge of law and order in a whole city quarter.
Mele’s killer was soon caught and dragged through the streets into custody. His name was De Mata; he had killed Mele out of revenge because Mele had arrested his equally thuggish brother. De Mata also embodied some very strange contradictions. Although he was not a member of the Honoured Society, he was still an extortionist who had escaped from prison. Yet somehow, thanks to a powerful friend, this dangerous man had found a no-show job at the Post Office.
That powerful friend, it turned out, was Silvio Spaventa. Both De Mata brothers were members of Spaventa’s personal bodyguard. There were rumours that Spaventa used the De Matas and their gang to close down politically dangerous newspapers and beat up uncooperative journalists. So it seems that even the incorruptible Spaventa had ended up ‘co-managing’ Naples with criminals.
Spaventa resigned in the wake of the scandal—although the government spun out a cover story to conceal the real reason why he had stepped down. The Times commented glumly on the whole affair for its perplexed readers back in London.
Nothing will bear examination in Naples. Under the fairest aspects you will find nothing but rottenness; and any man who expects order and tranquillity in this province during the next generation must be very slightly acquainted with the country and the people.
Spaventa’s story did indeed foreshadow a sombre future for law and order in Naples. Although the authorities would never again ask the camorra to keep order as Liborio Romano had done, there would be the same dreary swings of the policing pendulum for years to come: first towards repression, with mass arrests accompanied by loud anti-camorra rhetoric; then back towards ‘co-management’, as the bosses reasserted their hold over the low city. Italian unification in Naples had been a chaotic and unpredictable affair, but it had nonetheless set a simple and lasting pattern for the future history of the camorra.
The events of 1860–61 also heralded the future in ways that were still more worrying. Marc Monnier, our Swiss hotelier, saw the evidence with his own eyes during Spaventa’s crackdown.
I can tell all: every camorrista that was arrested could call on influential protectors who issued certificates of good conduct for him. The moment a member of the sect was led to the Vicaria prison, the Chief of Police was sure to receive twenty letters defending the ‘poor man’; the letters were all signed by respectable people!
Politicians were prominent among these ‘respectable people’ who had befriended the camorra.
During elections the camorristi stopped some candidates from standing; and if any voter objected to this on grounds of conscience or religion, they would
In reality, Spaventa had escaped once more. But the attack was so shocking as to make him overcome his deep-seated abhorrence of public attention. The following day he put on a show of courage by going to lunch at the Caffè d’Europa. That evening he sat in a second tier box on the first night of a new production of Bellini’s Norma at the Teatro San Carlo—the theatre where the rulers of Naples had traditionally made themselves visible to the public that counted. Spaventa even left by the main staircase, under the eyes of a stupefied crowd. He had learned the hard way that Naples could not be governed without a little Spanishry, a little ostentation.
Three months later it became clear that he had learned some other lessons too. In July 1861, in a busy street a short walk from Spaventa’s house, a senior police officer called Ferdinando Mele was stabbed behind the ear in broad daylight; he was dead within hours. Mele embodied all the contradictions of the time and place: a camorrista who had allied himself with the patriots, he was one of the chief suspects in the murder of Aversa Joe; hewas then recruited into the police by Liborio Romano in June 1860 and put in charge of law and order in a whole city quarter.
Mele’s killer was soon caught and dragged through the streets into custody. His name was De Mata; he had killed Mele out of revenge because Mele had arrested his equally thuggish brother. De Mata also embodied some very strange contradictions. Although he was not a member of the Honoured Society, he was still an extortionist who had escaped from prison. Yet somehow, thanks to a powerful friend, this dangerous man had found a no-show job at the Post Office.
That powerful friend, it turned out, was Silvio Spaventa. Both De Mata brothers were members of Spaventa’s personal bodyguard. There were rumours that Spaventa used the De Matas and their gang to close down politically dangerous newspapers and beat up uncooperative journalists. So it seems that even the incorruptible Spaventa had ended up ‘co-managing’ Naples with criminals.
Spaventa resigned in the wake of the scandal—although the government spun out a cover story to conceal the real reason why he had stepped down. The Times commented glumly on the whole affair for its perplexed readers back in London.
Nothing will bear examination in Naples. Under the fairest aspects you will find nothing but rottenness; and any man who expects order and tranquillity in this province during the next generation must be very slightly acquainted with the country and the people.
Spaventa’s story did indeed foreshadow a sombre future for law and order in Naples. Although the authorities would never again ask the camorra to keep order as Liborio Romano had done, there would be the same dreary swings of the policing pendulum for years to come: first towards repression, with mass arrests accompanied by loud anti-camorra rhetoric; then back towards ‘co-management’, as the bosses reasserted their hold over the low city. Italian unification in Naples had been a chaotic and unpredictable affair, but it had nonetheless set a simple and lasting pattern for the future history of the camorra.
The events of 1860–61 also heralded the future in ways that were still more worrying. Marc Monnier, our Swiss hotelier, saw the evidence with his own eyes during Spaventa’s crackdown.
I can tell all: every camorrista that was arrested could call on influential protectors who issued certificates of good conduct for him. The moment a member of the sect was led to the Vicaria prison, the Chief of Police was sure to receive twenty letters defending the ‘poor man’; the letters were all signed by respectable people!
Politicians were prominent among these ‘respectable people’ who had befriended the camorra.
During elections the camorristi stopped some candidates from standing; and if any voter objected to this on grounds of conscience or religion, they would
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