To the honour of a profession long held in contempt by the wise—and still
contemned by the weak—Shakspeare, the pride of Britain, was a player. For the comfort of the
illiterate, he was unlearned; and, to the shame of the vain and petulant author, he
was meek and humble.

This is one of Shakspeare's
dramas, in which all criticism has been absorbed in the tribute of praise.

There is in the love of Othello and Desdemona such a rational apology, such a
description of gradual passion taking possession of her heart, through pity and
admiration; rooted in his, from gratitude and tenderness; that no sooner has he
delivered that speech of natural eloquence to the senate, in the first act, than
every auditor feels himself agitated with interest for the fate of the enamoured,
and
newly wedded, pair.

So vast is the power of the author's skill in delineating the rise and progress of
sensations in the human breast, that a young and elegant female is here represented,
by his magic pen, as deeply in love with a Moor² —a man different in complexion and features
from her and her whole race—and yet without the b 2[Page 4]slightest imputation of indelicacy
resting upon her taste:—whilst the Moor, in his turn, dotes on her with all the
transport of the most impassioned lover, yet without the smallest abatement of the
rough and rigid cast of his nature.—The mutual affection of these two
characters seem most forcibly to be inspired by the very opposite qualities, which
they each possess.

There is a second contrast in this play more impressive than the foregoing. The
consummate art and malignant spirit of Iago are
so reverse from the generous mind and candid manners of Othello, that it appears like the highest
point, the very zenith, of the poet's genius, to have conceived two such personages,
not only for the same drama, but to have brought them on the stage together in almost
every scene.

To render the work complete, some of the inferior characters are important parts;
and
combine, with its admirable fable, incidents, and poetry, to rank the composition,
among the very best of Shakspeare's plays.

The theatre of Covent Garden has had the
encomium, for a few years past, of representing this tragedy better than it was ever
performed in the memory of the oldest critic.—Yet, how far a spectator can be
secure in speaking of the abilities of any performer in any one particular character,
so as the next who sees him shall conform to that exact opinion, the following
anecdote, showing the influence of chance upon the actor's powers, may serve to
prove. [Page 5]Booth, the
admired tragedian, was, like others of the profession, often both cold and
negligent on the stage.—In playing Othello once, to a very thin house, he was so languid in some scenes of
the part (said to be the masterpiece of his art) that no one could discern their
favourite performer. But in the third act, as if roused from his lethargy to the
most animating vigour, he displayed such uncommon fire and force, that players and
audience were electrified. Colley
Cibber, who acted the part of Iago,
exclaimed, on their return to the Green Room—"Pr'ythee, Booth, what was the charm which inspired
you so on a sudden?"—"Why, Colley, I saw, by accident, an Oxford man in the pit, whose judgment I
revere more than that of a whole audience."³