A library was created in 1844 called Institut Canadien de Montréal. The local Catholic church took exception to a small part of the collection which promoted liberal ideas. Mgr Bourget demanded the items be expunged and, when denied, decreed that "last rites" would be withheld from the members of the Insitut.

       When member Joseph Guibord (1809~69) died, there began a to-ing and fro-ing to have him buried in the family vault in the Roman Catholic section of the Mont Royal graveyard. It evolved into a six year legal battle, disputing which issues were under church authority and which were within government jurisdiction.

       The confederation of Canada was only two years old when this prolonged dispute began, and it became a notorious demonstration of "pushback" against the ultramontane ("God-given complete authority") of the priests.

       In fact, the issue shows much disrespect from both sides. But emotions ran high at this time, as the "conquered" French Catholics resented the English, and, surprisingly, the Irish Catholic refugees resented the French.

       Here is an anonymous version of the story, whose author seems just a bit hazy on the details; followed by a poem by George Martin, celebrating Guibord's stance on intellectual freedom.

 

GUIBORD.

       When I was in America in 1872 and 1873 I made the acquaintance of a Mr. Frank T—–. He was a Canadian, and told me his father was at that time the oldest clergyman in Canada. His home was south of the St. Lawrence, in that part of the province of Quebec lying between the river and the coast. Mr. T—– afterwards became a cotton merchant and importer, and established himself in Liverpool. He became, later, a member of the Liverpool Dock Board.

       In my early acquaintance with him he related, among other stories, the following about a French Canadian named Guibord, and his burial. It is indeed doubtful if any human being was ever before buried in a manner so remarkable.

       It appears that many years ago a Frenchman or French Canadian, resident in Montreal, bequeathed to that city an extensive library, and further endowed the institution. The bequest was placed in the hands of trustees, who were instructed from time to time to make use of the money coming in from the endowment to purchase modern books of interest and value. The most peculiar clause in the bequest, however, was one to the effect that, if the Trustees, for any reason whatever, refused to issue any book in the library to any citizen of Montreal, the bequest itself and the endowment should at once lapse, and should go to the heirs or descendants of the original donor. Time went on and, presently, a Canadian named Guibord was one of the trustees. I dare say you know that a very large number of the inhabitants of Montreal are of the Roman Catholic faith. It is a very remarkable thing there to see the religious processions. There are also many Irish Roman Catholics in Montreal, and Orange and Ribbon processions are not unknown. Well, it appears that some of the new books, lately bought by the trustees of the library, were of a nature which did not suit the Roman Catholic Bishop of Montreal. He went so far as to order Guibord to suppress the circulation of them, and to recall and destroy them. Guibord protested and explained that to do this would be to lose the library for the city, and to transfer it and its endowments to remote descendants of the donor. The Bishop, however, would not be appeased. He was quite careless as to consequences. He would not have such and such books circulated among his flock in Montreal. Guibord himself was a Roman Catholic, but he was also an honest trustee and a good citizen. He firmly declined to accede to the Bishop's orders, and the Bishop proceeded to denounce him. What kind of an excommunication was passed upon him I know not, but a part of the threat was that he should not be buried. Guibord stood firm, and in this world, at least, did not seem to be "one penny the worse," for all the Bishop's anathemas. In due time, however, Guibord died, and his relatives proceeded to bury him in his family vault. If you have seen Montreal you will not forget the beautiful cemetery behind the mountain which looks out upon the St. Lawrence. Guibord's vault was in this cemetery, and his friends and relatives were escorting his body thither when they were attacked by a riotous mob. The procession was broken up, stones thrown, many people hurt, and finally the friends succeeded in rescuing the coffin and taking it to a place of safety.

       It was tolerably clear that this riot, and the treatment his friends received, was instigated by the Roman Catholic Bishop.

       Guibord's relatives applied first to the Mayor of Montreal, but the Mayor was a Roman Catholic and afraid of his Bishop. He therefore shuffled, and said he had no force at his disposal to control the riot which would be certain to arise if Guibord's friends persisted. He said that in any case the burial, even if it could be effected, would be quite useless, as the mob would be sure to "howk" Guibord up again.

Gaslight note: The lieutenant governor of Québec at this time would have been Sir Narcisse-Fortunat Belleau QC. We are not sure why the author thinks Montréal is in Ontario.

       When further urged and reproached with his cowardice by Guibord's friends, he refused to take any responsibility in the matter, and sent the whole business forward to the Governor of the province of Ontario, in which the city of Montreal is situated. Guibord's relatives, however, got no satisfaction out of the Governor, and the matter finally went forward to the Governor-General. When it got there the Governor was on a tour, Manitoba way, and the subalterns in authority were very nervous about touching the affair. They read the observations of the poltroon Mayor of Montreal, and the cautious remarks of the Governor of Ontario, when in effect he pleaded "force majeure" as his reason for inaction, and, it would appear, became infected with the Mayor's spirit. At last, and to get rid of it, they sent the case on to London, and asked for instructions. The whole course of these proceedings was so contemptible as to be almost incredible to me when T—– related the story, and I have no doubt, from what followed, that they so appeared to the authorities in London. Their action was decisive enough. Guibord, they cabled, was to be buried in his own vault, even if it were necessary, in order to effect that purpose, to turn out all the armed forces in Canada, and Guibord was to be buried in such a manner as that it would be absolutely impossible for any mob to "howk" him out.

       On these orders the Canadian authorities moved. Whether in order to give an appearance of justification to their previous pusillanimous behaviour, or because they really feared an "emeute" of importance, I do not know, but they turned out nearly the whole of the fighting force of Canada. They called out the whole of the Canadian Militia, and sent regulars and horse artillery from Quebec. When the cortege started, with the body of Guibord and his friends in the centre, they were escorted by 7,000 armed men. Before such a formidable force the Montreal mob attempted to make no show at all, and everything passed off quietly. When the cortege reached the vault they found out the measures which had been taken to carry out the second part of the London instructions. The vault had been laid open, and lay a large, yawning pit before them. At the bottom were two tall trestles and a board on which the coffin was lowered. The pit was then filled in by pouring in concrete and Roman cement, and throwing in stones and pieces of old iron. Pieces of old railway iron and old plough shares were buried in this mass, and presently the pit was filled up to the level of the ground. Even that did not satisfy the authorities. They wished to allow for the shrinkage of the mass of cement as it set. It was, therefore, made turtle-backed, and then soldiers were set round with fixed bayonets to keep guard until it was cool and set hard.

       Guibord, therefore, is buried in the midst of a mass of cement about fourteen feet square, and it had become a physical impossibility to "howk" him out.

       But even then the Catholic Bishop had not done with him. The Bishop went up to the vault and solemnly cursed Guibord, the cement, and all concerned. Let us hope that his anathemas in this instance were no more effective than when Guibord first defied his authority.

       Some years after my return, at an evening at Mrs. D—–'s, I was asked for a story to amuse her guests, and related the above. I said my memory might possibly be at fault in some of the details, and quoted Mr. T—– as my authority. To my surprise a young man named O—–, one of the guests, at once said that the story as related was substantially correct throughout. He further said he was at the time resident in Canada, was in the Canadian Militia, and was one of the 7,000 men who escorted Guibord to the Cemetery.

 

IN MEMORY OF JOSEPH GUIBORD.

The storm of six long years is past, And peacefully he rests at last — Thrice hearsed, thrice cursed, let honest Fame Blow treble honor to his name; If thrice six years of praise ensue 'Tis but the hero's earthly due. The humble printer's mighty art, Though banned, will vindicate her son, And tell to every truthful heart — While woods are green and waters run — That he who braves a despot's frown Will wear at length the victor's crown; Even when slain, and torn asunder, And scattered piecemeal, trodden under The brutal feet of frenzied foes, His deeds will rise, as Christ arose, And borne upon the chainless air Will plead for freedom everywhere. "Let curses from their rookery fly", And flap their foul wings o'er his bones, The autumn wind that round him moans, Will mock them, while in vain they try To penetrate those friendly stones. Come what might come, from man or elf, He dared not quarrel with himself, Nor stab the Truth that in his breast Had found a warm and welcome nest. No terrors of the burning lake, Fancied or real, beyond the grave, Nor purgatorial flames could shake His manly soul, so firm and brave, For he was neither fool nor slave. True to himself, he lived and died, Not wilful, nor elate with pride, But steadfast in his honest thought, Self-justified, self-ruled, self-taught. Our Brother! wheresoever now Thy spirit lifts its freeborn brow, Behold thy kindred! — not alone In Canada will thousands own Relationship; throughout all lands, — Wherever freedom shines or dawns, An army with uplifted hands Impelled by glowing links that bind Nobility of mind to mind, Will crown thee with their benisons. Thus, Guibord! shall the commonwealth Of truth and reason's fearless sons, — Scorners of men who think by stealth, Now hold thee in fraternal trust, And consecrate thine injured dust, While woods grow green and water runs. G. MARTIN. [George Martin (1822-1900)]