It was a Sabbath day, 19. December 1562, and Calvin was confined to bed with gout. The north wind had been blowing for two consecu­tive days with great violence. Calvin, in the hearing of several persons said, ‘I know not what the cause of it is, but during the night I thought I heard martial music sounding aloud, and could not persuade myself that it was not really so. Let us pray, I beseech you; for some matter of great moment is going forward.’ It turned out that this was the day of the fierce battle of Dreux in France. The cause of the sorely tried French Protestants lay on his heart, and from his bed of weakness he was their counsellor and spiritual captain. His premonition on this occasion was marvellous, but not without parallel.

His bodily weakness was increasing, for he took no rest of mind or spirit. He was struggling against a multitude of ailments: indigestion, colic, gout, etc. On 5 June 1563, he preached, but was, Beza tells us, ‘amazingly exhausted’ by the effort. Some months later Beza speaks of him as having been afflicted with gall stone, and then for a month bat­tling against an attack of gout. Beza later adds, ‘I never look at him (and I see him every day) without needing solace.’

Yet all this time he kept toiling on, especially with correspondence. He wrote two very serious admonitions to the believers in Poland, warning against the anti-Trinitarian errors which were springing up there. In this last year of his life there were twelve letters to Bullinger of Zurich, and letters to the Queen of Navarre, the Duchess of Ferrara, the Prince of Conde, Admiral Coligny, and others in various ranks of life. In his last illness when suffering from breathlessness and almost unable to move, he translated his ‘Harmony of Moses’ from Latin into French, revised his translation of Genesis, wrote his Commentary on Joshua, and corrected the greater part of his annotations on the New Testament. When Beza and other friends advised him to desist from writing, he replied that what he was doing was as nothing, and added, ‘What, would you have the Lord to find me idle?’ He wished to watch and work, as far as he could, till his last breath.

Toward the end of 1563 the gout gave him some respite and he used the opportunity to give his lectures and to preach, being carried in a chair to the church. He even visited his friends to cheer their hearts.

In Beza’s Life of Calvin we read, ‘The year 1564 was to him the com­mencement of perpetual felicity, and to us of the greatest grief.’ Though all was peaceful and orderly within the city of Geneva, the political horizon was growing darker. Beza wrote that, with the return of the Cardinal of Lorraine from Trent, ‘hosts of new devils threaten France.’ They also threatened Geneva, which the Roman Church regarded as the source of most of its troubles. For Calvin the end was slowly drawing near. On 2 February he gave his last sermon on the books of Kings, and the same afternoon he gave his last lecture in the College on the book of Ezekiel. On Sabbath, 6 February, he gave his last sermon on the har­mony of the three Gospels. He never entered the pulpit again, though he still tried to go to the meetings of the congregation on Fridays, and say a few words and offer the closing prayer. This he did – in spite of his doctors and friends – because there was no need to speak at length and because he took pleasure in it. Actually, he could not speak at length, because of shortness of breath. Sometimes his body was so weak that he had strength only to take a few steps – but at times he had some alleviation. He knew the end was not far off, and often he repeated, ‘O Lord, how long?’

The news of his declining strength spread abroad. Spina wrote to him saying that he had heard that it was only his spirit which remained, his body being only a skeleton. ‘Your strength’, he said, ‘has been sapped by your toils, and what remains is consumed by your care for the churches.’ On 6 March 1564, Beza wrote that his bodily sufferings increased dur­ing the previous month. On 10 March some of the pastors from the city and the neighbourhood visited him. They found him dressed and seated by his table gasping for breath. He remained for a time without speak­ing with his head resting on one of his hands – a common posture with him. Then he looked pleasantly at them and thanked them for their visit and the trouble they had taken. He said he hoped to be with them at the meeting of the Consistory for private censures a fortnight later, but that it would be the last time – ‘I believe this will be my end, and that God will take me.’

The same day the Council of the city, hearing that he was so seriously ill, decided that all of them pray for his health, that the magistrates visit him often, and that a present of twenty-five gold pieces be given him. But he could not be induced to receive it, as he had not worked for it. The very day before his death he preached another grand sermon, refus­ing his salary on the same grounds. He was able to be at the Consistory on 24 March. It was held in his house, and though it lasted for two and a half hours, he did not seem exhausted. At the close he went on to read some of his marginal notes on the New Testament, and asked their opinions. The next day, however, he was worse. On the 27th he had himself carried to the Town Hall – the scene of many of his bat­tles and triumphs – and presented to the Council the new rector of the school and went on to deliver his last address there, thanking them for their kindness shown in his illness. He spoke with great difficulty but with marvellous charm of manner. ‘I feel that I am now in this place for the last time’, he said. The members of the Council were affected even to tears.

On the 28th he was present for the last time at the Consistory. The same day Zanchius, in a letter to Beza, sent greetings to Calvin whom he speaks of as ‘mortally ill’. Zanchius wrote to Bullinger: ‘If the Lord takes away Calvin, what can we say but that he is angry with us because of our ingratitude?’ On Easter Sabbath, 2 April, he had himself carried to church, and received the Lord’s Supper from the hands of Beza. In spite of difficulty of breathing, he joined in the singing of the Psalm, his face alight with joy.

He was now too feeble to write, though he still continued to dictate. Beza told Bullinger, ‘His thin, feeble body is so worn out that he could not endure any remedy. You can understand, my father, in what grief we are plunged here.’ On 25 April he made his will. It is full of grati­tude to God and confidence in his redeeming grace. He wished to live and die in the faith God had given him. He made his beloved brother Antony his heir, but in the way of honour only (he bequeathed to him a silver cup). To the Boys’ School he gave ten gold pieces, and gold pieces to his brother’s children and another relative. His friend Lawrence of Normandy was named with his brother as executor. His whole estate was small – the above legacies were to be realised from the sale of his books and effects!

On 27 April the Council was informed that he was sick unto death and that he wished to appear before them yet once more. They were eager to spare him the labour and decided to go to his house to hear what he had to say. He told them, when they appeared that he had deferred this last interview till he had a surer presentiment of his decease. He spoke to them most movingly – of his battles, of his sometimes too great vehemence, of his preaching of the pure Word of God, and of their support and forbearance. He warned them that Satan would stir up wicked men to corrupt the pure doctrine. Finally, he prayed for them and gave his right hand to each. They withdrew in tears, as if each was taking a last sorrowful farewell of his own father.

On 28 April the ministers came to him at his request. In his address to them he surveyed the past years:

When I first came to this church there was practically nothing ... All was in confusion ... I have lived here in marvellous combats. I have been saluted in mockery on an evening by fifty or sixty gunshots before my door ... They set dogs on me which seized me by the coat and legs. I went to the Council of Two Hundred (17 December 1547) when they were fighting among themselves, keeping back others who wished to go. When some shouted ‘With­draw’, I replied, I shall not ... Go on villains, kill me and my blood will witness against you and these benches require it at your hands’ ... Although I am nothing, I have suppressed 3,000 tumults which would have arisen in Geneva ... Be strong and of good courage.

He took farewell of all, and shook hands with each. All were melted to tears.

On 2 May 1564, this peerless letter-writer wrote his last letter. Fit­tingly it was to his old friend Farel. He had heard that Farel, now in his 80th year and feeble, wished to come to see him. He wrote him in Latin:

Farewell, my best and most right-hearted brother ... I would not have you fatigue yourself on my account. I draw my breath with difficulty, and am daily waiting till I altogether cease to breathe. It is enough that to Christ I live and die; to His people He is gain in life and death. I commend you to God. Entirely yours, John Calvin.

In spite of the weight of his years Farel did not let this letter stop him. He came to Geneva and after seeing Calvin and conversing with him, and preaching in the congregation, he returned to his church in Neuchatel.

On 4 May Beza wrote to Bullinger of the success of the schools in Geneva (with nearly 1,500 scholars) and went on to mention ‘the con­tinual suffering of our beloved father’. ‘He gave us in life a model of devotion’, said Beza, ‘and now in death a singular example of Christian fortitude.’ On 13 May Calvin’s secretary, Jonvilliers, wrote with grief and tears of him as ‘crushed with pains most diverse and dreadful’. Beza heard him say on one occasion, ‘Thou, O Lord, bruisest me, but it is enough for me that it is thy hand.’ On 24 May Beza wrote to Bullinger: ‘Our Calvin from day to day hastens on more and more to the eternal peace. The day before yesterday I greeted him in your name and I men­tioned the earnest prayers of your church for him.’ Beza added that Calvin replied: ‘I thank those most excellent brethren ... Lord, keep these faithful servants and hear them, but if it please thee, let me soon be with thee.’ Beza tells us that in his severe sufferings Calvin showed astonishing patience and was continually longing after God and lifting his eyes to Him. ‘As for us’, says Beza, ‘we mourn as orphans.’

May 19 was the day for the ministers to meet for their private cen­sures and dine together. Calvin allowed them to have supper at his house, and collecting all his strength, he was carried in a chair from his bed to the next room. On entering he said: ‘I come to you, brethren, for the last time. I am never again, to sit at table.’ He offered a prayer and sought cheerfully to take a little food. Before the meal was over he was carried back to his room, saying with a smile, ‘Though this wall is between us, I shall be with you in spirit.’ From that day he never rose from his bed. His face was unchanged: indeed his very looks bore wit­ness to his faith; but owing to weakness and shortness of his breath his prayers and consolations were breathed rather in sighs than in intel­ligible words.

On the day of his death, 27 May 1564, he seemed to be stronger and to speak with less difficulty. But it was nature’s last effort. In the evening about eight o’clock, without a single convulsion or even a deeper sigh, calmly his spirit passed from the emaciated body. Beza says: ‘He remained perfectly sensible, and was not deprived of utterance to his very latest breath. Indeed, he looked much more like one sleeping than dead. On that day, then, at the same time with the setting sun, this splendid luminary was withdrawn from us.’ A few days later the funeral took place, attended by the senators, pastors and almost the whole city, many in tears. ‘He was buried’, says Beza, ‘in the common cemetery, with no extraordinary pomp, and as he had commanded, without any gravestone.’ He was but fifty-four years of age. The only epitaph he would have wished was this: ‘To God alone the glory.’