Why I Am Re-reading R L Stevenson’s Kidnapped

It’s nice to be reminded of values such as friendship and loyalty and kindness

My overriding memory of Robert Louis Stevenson’s Kidnapped is of David Balfour paused on the edge of the ruined tower in his uncle’s house, saved from a fall and certain death by a blink of summer lightening.

I had not thought of David for a long time till this week. This week I came across this statue in Edinburgh and I suddenly realised that the Corstorphine that I was staying in is the same Corstorphine of Kidnapped.

The statue in the picture is of the protagonists, David and Alan Breck. This is where they part ways after their incredible adventures.

It was nice to be reminded of Kidnapped. Not just because it took me back to a time long gone-by — high school was an extraordinarily enjoyable experience for me, though the nuns the good lord entrusted to my care may have been scarred for life — but also because it brings to mind the memory of an enduring friendship and deep loyalty.

If you remember, David risks death, even in the last chapter, even after he has come into wealth and a good life, to ensure safe passage for Alan. As he says to someone who counsels him to ditch Alan, or risk the gallows, “In that case, sir, I would just have to be hanged — would I not?” Here’s a telling excerpt, from the very last chapter of Kidnapped:

We came the by-way over the hill of Corstorphine; and when we got near to the place called Rest-and-beThankful, and looked down on Corstorphine bogs and over to the city and the castle on the hill, we both stopped, for we both knew without a word said that we had come to where our ways parted. Here he repeated to me once again what had been agreed upon between us: the address of the lawyer, the daily hour at which Alan might be found, and the signals that were to be made by any that came seeking him. Then I gave what money I had (a guinea or two of Rankeillor’s) so that he should not starve in the meanwhile; and then we stood a space, and looked over at Edinburgh in silence.

‘Well, good-bye,’ said Alan, and held out his left hand.

‘Good-bye,’ said I, and gave the hand a little grasp, and went off down hill.

Neither one of us looked the other in the face, nor so long as he was in my view did I take one back glance at the friend I was leaving. But as I went on my way to the city, I felt so lost and lonesome, that I could have found it in my heart to sit down by the dyke, and cry and weep like any baby.

In a world marked by one-upmanship and duplicity, it is nice to be reminded of values like loyalty and friendship and kindness. I don’t know if that was the purpose of the statue, but it certainly had me reaching for Kidnapped again.