“More than 150 killed in Seoul stampede.” This is what we read in the papers on Monday, October 31, 2022. If, two centuries ago, we were with the living in Malta, we would have read something similar on Ash Wednesday, February 12, 1823. Not at a Halloween event though, but amid Carnival merriment.

Carnival is undoubtedly the most colourful of all public festivals in Malta, held in the days prior to Lent. During this period of cheerful song and laughter, handed down by an unbroken tradition of over four centuries, Carnival spirit manifests itself in various ways.

Different countries have different lengths of Carnival time, with pre-Carnival events, parades, cultural dances and merrymaking in the streets. In some places, there are even post-Carnival events, Ash Wednesday being swallowed up in the partying.

However, over the years, various abuses abounded, such as excessive overeating and often an indulgence in sensual gratification. Some Catholics saw Carnival as a ‘licence’ to commit sin, which is why saints instituted various spiritual practices to make reparation for such transgressions and redirect the fervour of the faithful.

For instance, St Ignatius of Loyola promoted the Forty Hours Devotion during the days that immediately precede Ash Wednesday. Thus, in most parishes, during Carnival days, a sung mass, a sermon and an exposition of the Blessed Sacrament used to be held.

With this intent, in Malta, those associations that usually gathered children for the teaching of doctrine also grouped them during Carnival days and organised activities for them not only with the specific intent of keeping these youngsters away from the occasion of sin, but also to make amends for the shortcomings committed by others.

For example, in Senglea, towards the end of the 18th century, the Congregation of Doctrine, established in 1774, used to organise a penitential procession with the participation of its members, the parish priest, those involved in the teaching of doctrine, and all the children. Throughout the procession, they visited the various chapels in the town, reciting prayers.

But the Carnival merriment of 1823 had an unexpected and tragic end when an act of charity degenerated into a misfortune.

During the early 19th century, Malta was experiencing widespread poverty, and hunger was rampant. Thus it was customary to gather eight- to 15-year-old boys from the working classes of Valletta and Cottonera, and provide them with bread and fruit, a government-sponsored scheme topped up by other benefactors, as a small treat after participating in a religious gathering and a procession during Carnival days.

This activity was arranged by ecclesiastical directors who taught catechism and, as already stated, its main aim was to keep children out of the mayhem and confusion of Carnival that took place in the streets of these cities.

Indeed, as usual, on February 10, 1823, some children attended a sacred ceremony at Floriana’s parish church and were then accompanied to the convent of the Minori Osservanti (better known as Ta’ Ġieżu) in Valletta where they were given bread. All went as planned, and the same procedure was meant to be repeated the following day.

Part of St John Street during the late 19th century. On the right is the niche of St Antony of Padova and the main entrance to the Ta’ Ġieżu church.

Everything started according to plan on February 11, 1823. The children were assembled in a group and were taken to Floriana. However, since the ceremony lasted an hour longer than usual, the children’s procession to the convent in Valletta coincided with the end of the Carnival celebrations, when a great number of jubilant people were returning home.

This led to the next blunder, as a number of adults and children who were passing by and who knew of this tradition, secretly mixed in with the other boys in order to share the bread that would be distributed. It was now dark and nobody noticed their incursion.

The boys entered one of the convent’s corridors from the church’s vestry door, and were to be let out through another door on St Ursula Street, where the bread was to be distributed. When all were in, the vestry door was usually locked to prevent those already given bread from re-entering for a second helping. This time, since the boys were late, the door was inadvertently left open for a longer time.

Due to this, more men and boys entered without anyone realising. These began to push the boys queuing in the corridor, shoving them at the end of the corridor near a half-open door. This eventually turned into a bottleneck.

A commotion arose and the people inside began to push forward to rush out, crushing the ones who stood at the front

Accidentally, a lamp usually lit to illuminate the corridor was somehow put out, leaving the overcrowded area in total darkness, compounding the confusion. A commotion arose and the people inside began to push forward in trepidation so as to rush out, unwittingly crushing the ones who stood at the front. The boys at the front fell down a flight of steps on top of each other, thereby further blocking the door, which opened inwards.

The end of the corridor where the children were trapped against the door leading to St Ursula Street. Photo: Carl Farrugia

The door on St Ursula Street through which the boys were to be let out and which was eventually turned into a bottleneck. Photo: Carl Farrugia

The flight of steps heading towards the exit in St Ursula Street.

Those who were distributing the bread, as well as some neighbours, rushed to assist the children after they heard shrieks and cries and managed to open the two doors which led to the corridor. Many boys got out and were revived. However, a number of boys had already died due to suffocation, squashed in the small space, or trampled upon.

A painting about the tragedy by General Sir George Whitemore, who headed the Royal Engineers’ detachment on Malta as its Colonel Commandant between 1811 and 1829.

The exact number of casualties is not clear. The Liber Mortuorum ab anno 1755 ad annum 1848, listing the patients who died at the Station Hospital (formerly Sacra Infermeria), in Valletta, and the Civil and the Central hospitals, includes a sombre note on page 191. It runs as follows in translation: “On February 11, 1823, the last day of Carnival, 94 dead [children] between the ages of 15 and 16 years were brought to the men’s hospital. They had died of suffocation in the corridor of the ground floor of the convent of the Minor Observants of Valletta at 6.30pm after the procession that is customarily held during the days of Carnival. The next day they were conveyed to the cemetery.”

However, other contemporary reports hold that “no less than 110 boys perished on this occasion from suffocation, by being pressed together in so small a space or trampled upon”. (The Gentleman’s Magazine and Historical Chronicle, January to June 1823, London.)

The news of this fatal accident brought grief to the victims’ relatives and anger against the British administration in Malta. Sir Thomas Maitland, the first British governor to rule over Malta, ordered an inquiry to obtain any possible evidence. The investigation, led by Sir Richard Plasket, chief secretary, concluded that it was an unfortunate accident caused by a succession of errors, leaving hundreds of parents in sorrow as they unluckily lost their children in an event meant to safeguard them from the disorderly festivities.

Colonel Marquis Giuseppe De Piro, captain of the Malta Fencibles, who led the soldiers during this tragic moment, in a portrait at Casa Rocca Piccola, Valletta. Photo: Marquis Nicholas De Piro

Consequently, no one was accused with the death of the children since these acts were not done on purpose to harm them. In fact, Plasket commented that everyone had collaborated to assist these poor boys, and even the victims’ relatives had allowed the police and soldiers to work speedily and diligently in order to save as many children as possible. He insisted that were it not for this, the tragedy could have been much worse.

A report of these findings was published a few days after the incident and annexed as a supplement to the Malta Government Gazette of Friday, February 14, 1823, p. 3,391-2. This long report includes information that was provided by Mgr Ferdinando Mattei, Bishop of Malta, and persons examined before the Magistrate of Police, including relatives of the victims and other individuals who were present during the incident. A medical report was also included.

A British soldier who witnessed it all, wrote home about this Carnival catastrophe: “When the place was cleared and the doors were opened, the dead and dying were brought out into the streets … for 30 yards each side of the door [was] strewn with children, some dead, others dying, and others showing symptoms of recovering. Women running up and down, mad with despair seeing their little ones, and to add to the misery of the scene it was dark… When a woman would examine her supposed child she would find it was not her own, it was then laid on the ground and the poor disconsolate mother would rush again amongst the little unfortunates to seek her own. I shall never forget this night, cries of despair were uttered by thousands and [were] heard distinctly at Fort Ricasoli and Cottonera.” (Susanna Hoe, Malta: Women, History, Books and Places, Oxford: 2015, p. 371–372.)

Two hundred years have elapsed and this tragedy remains a blot on the beauty of Carnival. This heartbreaking misfortune forms part of Malta’s social history, and these children deserve to be remembered and commemorated. Thus, I feel that some sort of commemorative plaque should be erected somewhere. Participants in the children’s Carnival may then be asked to lay a nominal wreath every year at the foot of this memorial in remembrance of the 110 innocent children who died on the last day of Carnival 1823.