Ever told a little white lie that got way out of hand? Ludwig Anzengruber's 1874 play Der G'wissenswurm (The Worm of Conscience) takes that idea and runs with it through the muddy fields of a 19th-century Austrian village.

The Story

The farmer Franz Dusterer is a proud man. To impress his neighbors and secure a good marriage for his daughter, he lies about receiving a large inheritance. The lie works—at first. He gains status, and his daughter gets engaged. But the 'worm' of his conscience starts gnawing at him. When the supposed inheritance doesn't materialize, he has to weave more lies to cover the first, digging himself into a hole that threatens to bury his reputation, his family's future, and his own sanity. The whole village becomes a stage for his mounting panic.

Why You Should Read It

Don't let the 'peasant comedy' label fool you. This play has real teeth. Anzengruber isn't just making fun of country folk; he's showing how universal weakness is. Dusterer is painfully relatable—we've all been tempted to bend the truth to look better. The dialogue crackles with local color and humor, but underneath it all is this slow-burn anxiety that's brilliantly done. You're laughing one minute and wincing in sympathy the next.

Final Verdict

Perfect for anyone who loves character-driven stories where the real battle happens inside someone's head. If you enjoy classic moral dilemmas served with a side of rustic charm and sharp observation, this hidden gem is for you. It's a quick, satisfying read that proves some struggles—like wrestling with your own conscience—are truly timeless.