The society of the Camorra is undoubtedly of considerable antiquity. It came to Naples from Spain in the days of the Spanish dominion and its etymology is thus explained. The word has been traced to the chamarra or “jacket” of untrimmed sheep’s skin so much worn by the Spanish peasant, and an early mention of the society is to be found in the novels of Cervantes. An organisation of the kind existed in Seville and raised funds by levying blackmail on all gaming houses and drinking shops. Sancho Panza in his government of Barataria is called upon to decide a case of extortion of this description.

We read that the system flourished in the Neapolitan prisons during the sixteenth century very much as in modern times. A Spanish viceroy, Cardinal Grand Vela, writes: “We have learnt that in the prison of the Vicaria the inmates who are most masterful practise many extortions upon their weaker fellows, demanding subscriptions to keep the Madonna’s lamp furnished with oil and imposing other taxes just as though they were the masters of the place.”

A French writer, Marc Monnier, who knew Naples by heart, has gathered together much interesting information about the commanding influence of the Camorra in the Vicaria in the latter days of the Bourbon rÉgime. He tells us that when a new arrival entered the Castel Capuano, or Vicaria prison, and passed under the grand entrance, he reached two separate doors, both leading into the interior, and after the usual ceremonies of reception he fell at once into the hands of the Camorra. Its representative came up with outstretched hand and made the stereotyped application,—money for oil to burn in the Madonna’s lamp. This custom was universal; the lamps were to be met with everywhere, even in the lowest and vilest haunts. The sum raised in the Vicaria alone would have sufficed to illuminate the whole city, and it was, of course, only a pretext for innumerable arbitrary assessments. The prisoner was at the mercy of the Camorra, body and soul. He must buy permission to eat, or drink, or play cards, or smoke; the privilege of buying was taxed and also that of selling. He paid for justice; for the concession of rights and privileges to which he was entitled or which he had fairly earned. The ill-advised person who refused to be thus blackmailed ran the risk of being beaten to death. Even the poorest submitted at the cost of their wages or their last copper.

The Camorra in the prisons arrogated to itself the authority to allow prisoners to carry knives or to withhold the permission. When any persons of rank and importance were received at the Vicaria, a leading Camorrist came to them and formally presented each new arrival with a stiletto with a low bow: “Will your excellency accept this? We authorise you to carry it.” They were snobs, these Camorrists, and always paid their respects to persons of means, while they tyrannised only over the poor and needy. Some of the prisoners were poor indeed, and reduced to any shifts to obtain a little cash. There was a regular traffic in the food and clothes issued by the administration, which the indigent sold to the Camorrists and which the latter passed back at a price to the officials, thus making a profit out of the poor prisoners.

Although weapons were positively forbidden in the prison, the chief of the Camorra could always lay his hands upon knives, and had his own private store. It was the boast of the society that it maintained good order and gave protection to the well-disposed; that they acted as a sort of unofficial police, and if they levied blackmail, on the other hand, they prevented thefts; if they stabbed people when it suited them, they would suffer no murderous affrays. Duels might be fought, but only under their auspices; they enforced obedience to rules of discipline when the wardens themselves failed to secure it. On one occasion, when a prisoner of fierce, insubordinate temper defied authority, the warden appealed to a Camorrist for assistance and was readily backed up by him. This Camorrist, named Diego Zezza, whose favourite weapon was a razor blade forced into a handle and with which he had once sliced off an enemy’s head, seized the recalcitrant prisoner by the hair of his head and banged him against an iron gate until he cried for mercy. Diego Zezza came to a violent end. His overbearing ways were so resented by his comrades that a conspiracy was set on foot against him and he was assassinated by some of the most resolute of his own associates.

The Camorrist was obliged to maintain his authority if it was challenged. A priest from Calabria who had gotten into trouble and was sent to the Vicaria, was approached as usual for his contribution for oil, but being quite penniless could not pay. The Camorrist raised his stick threateningly—“You wouldn’t dare to do that if I had a knife,” said the priest. “You shall have one,” replied the other, and two were forthwith produced. The chief of the Camorra had always a stock in hand in spite of all regulations to the contrary. In this case the priest, like all the Calabrians, was more skilful than his adversary and speedily killed the Camorrist.

Among the perquisites of the Camorrists was the monopoly of gambling. A tax was levied upon every game of morra played,—a favourite amusement with all Neapolitans. It is simplicity itself; one player holds up his doubled fist and throws out one or more fingers and the other guesses the number as they are displayed. If one cries “five” and the number of fingers is three or four, the other player wins. In the prisons the stakes were measures of wine, also supplied by the Camorra, which in this way made money all round. The gains were very substantial when affairs prospered, and as much as £40 or £50 was paid into the society’s treasury every week.

The organisation was extensive and all the prisons were brought into it. How well the system worked was to be seen in a correspondence between the chief Camorrist and one of his subordinate lieutenants in another prison which was shown to Mr. Marc Monnier. These letters, by many different hands, proving that the chief was no scholar and had to depend upon the literary skill of others, dealt largely with the affairs of the society, which issued orders, gave decisions, inflicted punishments, and divided its funds. All the current news was passed on, prison arrivals and departures, new sentences and terms expired. The most remarkable thing was the facility and regularity with which these clandestine letters were passed in and out of the prisons; no doubt the wardens were always at the service of the Camorrists and helped them in every way.

Discipline was strict in the ranks; submission and obedience were rigorously exacted; advancement was slow and painfully earned. The recruit passed a long novitiate. He began in the lowest grade, that of the garzone chi mala vita, “youth of vicious life,” in which he was kicked about by his betters and did any kind of dirty work. Then he rose to be a picciotto, holding a certain position, but still an inferior. He might pass through years of diligent, even dangerous service, and if necessary be put to the severest trial, that of carrying out a murder at the command of the society, when some bloodthirsty vengeance was sought. If nothing of the kind pressed, it was at one time the rule to throw down a copper coin on the ground for the picciotto to pick up while his comrades stabbed at his fingers with the points of their knives. Promotion might be earned by some tremendous act of self-sacrifice, such as that of accepting the blame for a heinous crime committed by some one else. Cases have been known in which the innocent criminal received and endured a very long sentence, even ten or twenty years at the galleys, cheerfully, bearing the burden of another for the great reward of becoming a full member of the society. This probation might be greatly prolonged, but it was worth it to secure the coveted position of the Camorrist entitled to dictate to others, to take his share of the spoils when divided, and to receive the adulation and cringing respect of the lower orders. He was after that eligible to become one of the supreme chiefs, a post of great consequence and of unlimited power. He became in the argot of the society a masto or a capomasto; that is, “master” or “grand-master,”—a personage who ruled over his fellows as a superior being. When an ordinary member met a masto on the street, he was bound to remove his hat and humbly ask for orders.

Every member was addressed as “Si,” the abbreviation of signore. The Society had a rich vocabulary of slang terms. Freddare was “to kill”; il dormentÉ was “the dead man.” A dagger, as in ancient days, was the misericordi; the tit-tac or bobotta was a revolver; the police were lasagne, so called after a kind of macaroni; l’asparago was a gendarme. The Camorrists were loyal to each other, and any treachery was punished with death. They quarrelled among themselves and were bound to fight with knives and to strike in the chest in serious cases. A Camorrist might cease active work but could never wholly withdraw from the society. They received help in old age; their widows were pensioned and their children provided for.

After the fall of the Bourbons and in the early days of the unification of Italy, when the new rÉgime had not consolidated its power, the Camorra in Naples was more than ever formidable; they controlled such forces and were so strongly bound together that the ordinary laws were of little avail against them. People were afraid to complain when they were robbed, and the police hesitated to pursue the robbers. If any were taken red-handed and the case was clear against them, the judges often dared not convict or sentence them. It was some time before the energetic measures taken by the government were of any avail, for even when numerous arrests had been made, there was a definite danger in collecting these terrible creatures in the same gaol. The leading Camorrists in those days were miscreants foremost in the committal of every kind of crime; they were thieves, brigands and murderers, and the careers of one or two of the worst may be quoted in support of this statement.

A prominent personage, leader and king, was Salvatore Crescenzo, who first entered the Vicaria in 1849, where he continued his violent misdeeds by wounding one fellow prisoner and killing another. After regaining his freedom in 1855, he returned to the active business of a Camorrist, was again captured and sent to gaol, but this time at a distance from Naples. After his next release, he took to politics and was for a time a member of the revolutionary police under Liborio Romano, but this was not in his line, and he again joined the Camorra and ended his life in the island of Ponza.

A long list might be made out of men of the same type.

It might be supposed that the baleful tyranny of the Camorra, which was an undoubted fact, based upon undeniable evidence, had now disappeared from the Italian prisons. Yet, according to the best authority, the society still flourishes in the south and especially in the convict colonies established in the various islands of the kingdom. A writer in the “Archivo di Psichiatria,” Signor Pucci, states positively from his personal knowledge that the Camorra is still ferociously active. It is absolute master in every colony. Although by no means numerically strong, by its admirable and unscrupulous organisation it still rules despotically, despises laws and regulations and sets the authority of all prison officials at defiance. Brutal violence may not be often practised as of old, but the society still extorts blackmail from the rest of the colonists, adopting nefarious methods of obtaining money. One is by the tax on gambling—the Italian, bond or free, is always eager to gamble; another is by the most extortionate usury at twenty or thirty per cent.; a third is by forcibly impounding the earnings of those who work. When new arrivals appear in the colony, if they have money or decent clothes they are made drunk and then robbed. The first sight, says Signor Pucci, that strikes the visitor is that of a number of lazy, truculent ruffians lounging idly in the sun or strolling and loafing about the yards and passages. These are the Camorrists; they are too lazy to lift a finger to shut a door; but on Sundays they appear in smart clothes, wearing watches and chains, the proceeds of their extortion. As these coatti “ex-convict colonists,” are mostly criminal men, it is easy to understand how soon this corrupting association drags them down. The authorities are powerless to protect them or to control the infamous practices of the Camorra. This is alleged to be the cardinal defect of the colonies and those who know declare that wherever Italians of the dangerous class congregate together in their freedom, the Camorra will always exercise its baneful control.

The influence of this criminal society has extended to all classes, and especially has it made itself felt in the municipal life of Naples, which might well be termed rotten to the core. No determined effort to strike at this plague spot and eradicate this crying evil met with any success before the royal order for inquiry into the condition of municipal government was issued in 1900, when the most astonishing facts were brought to light.

The origin of the Mafia, which flourishes chiefly in Sicily is lost. Probably it arose centuries ago as a means of self-protection among the residents of that unhappy island which has been the pawn of so many rulers. Though little is definitely known of it, apparently the society is as powerful in the twentieth century as in the eighteenth or the nineteenth.

There seems to be no closely knit organisation and yet it works with almost the precision of a machine. In the rural districts to some extent it takes the place of a police force in the protection of property. The small farmer makes a contribution to some one who is generally understood to be a leader and his crops are untouched. His neighbour neglects or refuses to do the same and his fields are plundered. Membership in the order is often tolerably well known, and thousands who are not actively engaged are in sympathy with the society and give information whenever desired. Garibaldi’s easy success in Sicily is attributed to the good wishes of the Mafia.

The worst features appear in the cities. There the members are ready for plunder, personal mutilation, and even a murder may be purchased for a few dollars. The leaders are not elected. They rise by personal force—because they can make others follow them—and yet their authority is never questioned until a rival appears, and then death settles the leadership in favour of the stronger, and another unsolved murder is added to the long list of the police. In many cases the police themselves are in collusion with the Mafiosi, or at least do not make any determined effort to bring them to justice.

Some declare that there is a “high” as well as a “low” Mafia. To the former belong many men prominent in public life, who, while they may not themselves take part in actual criminal acts, are yet able by their political influence to protect the ordinary members from the consequence of their deeds.

Count Codronchi, High Commissioner, and military commandant of the island in 1894, declares that the acknowledged leader of the society, Palizzola, Parliamentary deputy from Palermo, charged with the murder of Marquis Notarbartola, was thus shielded. It is certain that many obstacles were thrown in the way of the investigation, that Codronchi was transferred, and that Palizzola, after being convicted twice in Northern Italy, where the case had been moved, finally escaped on a technicality. Further he afterward received a decoration from the Prime Minister and is still influential in public life. In some respects his position seems analogous to that of the “boss” in an American city.

Nevertheless some members both of the Camorra and of the Mafia have been caught red-handed and have been punished, while others fled to escape arrest. Many of both classes have come to the United States along with the great stream of Italian immigration and the “Black Hand” outrages have followed. In nearly all cases only those of Italian birth have been involved, and generally the crimes have grown out of attempted blackmail.

A prosperous Italian receives a letter, signed with a picture of a black hand, demanding that a specified sum of money be left at a designated place, and threatening dire consequences for failure. Often the frightened recipient carries out the instructions and does not even report the matter to the police. In case he refuses his horses may be poisoned, his child kidnapped, his place of business wrecked by explosives, or he may even be stabbed or shot, particularly if he has reported the letter to the police who have generally been unable to protect him.

Investigators generally do not believe that either the Camorra or the Mafia has been transplanted to America, unless perhaps some crimes in New Orleans, several years ago, may be attributed to the Mafia. It is believed that the crimes have been planned by individuals or by small groups, which may include, however, old members of one or the other of the societies abroad. Generally they are simply bold spirits, some of whom have lived in America almost since childhood, who hate honest work and prefer to live upon the ignorance and the fears of their countrymen.

New York, which contains an Italian population second only to Naples, has been the centre of these crimes, which the ordinary detective force seemed unable to solve. In 1905, a special bureau of Italian-speaking detectives under Lieutenant Joseph Petrosino, was established to deal with such cases and a long string of convictions followed. In addition about sixty men, some of whom were wanted by the Italian police, were deported, because of previous criminal records. Many crimes remained unpunished, however, because of the difficulty of getting testimony against suspected persons. The victims or their friends, either because of fear or because they preferred to take private vengeance, have hindered the police instead of helping them.

Lieutenant Petrosino soon became convinced that there was little hope of repressing the Italian criminal in New York without the coÖperation of the Italian government. By exchange of records the police departments of the two countries would be enabled to exercise closer supervision of suspected individuals and could report suspicious cases. Without the criminal records kept abroad, the authorities in the United States were unable to deal promptly with the immigrants.

Armed with credentials from the New York City government and from the national government as well, Lieutenant Petrosino sailed for Europe in February, 1909. Though he travelled under an assumed name he was recognised in various cities by Italians who had spent some time in the United States, and probably knowledge of his presence was widespread among the criminal classes. Though several times warned of danger, he did not flinch, but went quietly on collecting material and striving to interest the authorities in his mission. While in Palermo, Sicily, on the night of March 12, 1909, he was twice shot in the Piazza Marina, just as he was mailing a letter to his wife, and died almost instantly. Though the police were ordered to be especially active months of investigation apparently have produced no results.

Speculation has connected the tragedy with the names of many well-known Italian criminals. Guiseppe Di Primo, whom Petrosino suspected of complicity in the celebrated “barrel murder” in 1903, and who was later deported through his efforts, is said to have threatened to take his life if opportunity offered. Errico Alfano, better known as Erricone, a Camorrist of Naples, who was deported and arrested in his native city, through information given by Petrosino, is also suspected. For that matter, any one of a hundred who had felt his heavy hand may have done, or, at least, have incited the crime.

Petrosino’s work has been continued chiefly by men with whom he worked and whom he had trained. The “Black Hand” outrages have persisted and it becomes increasingly evident that they can be suppressed only by exercising closer scrutiny of the records of Italian immigrants, and perhaps also by adopting a system of espionage, heretofore entirely foreign to American ideas of the limits of police activity.

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