Chapter III begins with a quiet moment in the night, as a watchman performing his routine rounds notices a pair of galoshes left carelessly by a door. Believing they must belong to the officer across the hall, he picks them up with casual interest. Tempted by their warmth and soft lining, he slips them on, unaware that these are no ordinary shoes. No sooner does he begin to muse about the pleasant life of the lieutenant than a strange transformation begins. Suddenly, he finds himself no longer clad in his coarse coat, but dressed elegantly, surrounded by refined furnishings, and inhabiting a life far from his own. Yet almost instantly, the ease he imagined begins to unravel. The lieutenant’s lifestyle is filled with silent burdens. There are debts, romantic disappointments, and the constant need to maintain a polished exterior. What had once seemed enviable now feels fragile and exhausting.

As he lives through the lieutenant’s day, the watchman becomes sensitive to the unspoken sorrow behind the glamour. He listens to poems written in longing and reads letters never sent. These small tokens of pain leave an imprint on him. In them, he senses a yearning not so different from his own. It turns out that the lieutenant’s charm and social privilege conceal a heavy heart. Despite appearances, there is a sense of emptiness—love that can’t be claimed, joy that feels distant, and hopes tied up in uncertain futures. The watchman, now seeing this from the inside, realizes how misleading surface impressions can be. No status exempts one from sadness. His respect for the lieutenant grows, but his desire to be him quickly fades. There is no perfect life, only different versions of struggle.

Still wearing the magical galoshes, the watchman casually reflects on the stars above, wondering what life on the moon might be like. In a blink, he’s no longer among city buildings but standing on lunar ground. The moon is cold and bright, filled with creatures that speak and reason but know little of Earth. The beings around him, the Selenites, are curious and distant. They ponder the nature of Earth’s people, questioning whether they feel emotion, understand art, or value wisdom. The watchman, overwhelmed by the strange world and the philosophical questions posed, struggles to make sense of his surroundings. He finds their logic oddly detached, their curiosity unsettling. Through their conversations, he realizes how deeply human experience is tied to imperfection and feeling. The moon may be fascinating, but it is not home.

Among the Selenites, the watchman begins to feel like a subject under a microscope. His heart misses the sounds of the city and the subtle comforts of familiar routines. Even the troubles of his old life now seem more precious. He longs not for grandeur or celestial knowledge, but for something warm, known, and grounded. The farther he moves from his former life, the more he sees its hidden value. This longing leads to a quiet wish for return. The moment the thought forms, the magic responds. The moon fades. The night air of Copenhagen returns, and he is back on his usual path, lantern in hand. There’s no applause, no visible change—but everything inside him is different.

Back in his own shoes, the watchman takes a deep breath. The night no longer feels dull or uneventful. His modest job, once dismissed as tedious, now carries a sense of purpose. He doesn’t envy the lieutenant. Nor does he crave celestial mysteries. What he values now are the simple truths of his life—the people he greets, the ground he walks on, and the small moments he used to ignore. The galoshes showed him entire worlds, yet the greatest discovery was the meaning found in his own. That sense of clarity cannot be purchased or wished into being. It has to be lived, seen, and understood through contrast.

This tale offers a gentle but profound reflection on human desire. Often, we wish to trade lives, to escape our own troubles by imagining that someone else’s burdens are lighter. But Andersen reminds us that every life, no matter how polished, carries its shadows. The journey through another’s reality or an otherworldly place can be illuminating, but it is rarely an escape. The lesson isn’t that dreaming is wrong—it’s that fulfillment often grows from knowing where you stand and learning to value it. What the watchman experiences is not just adventure but insight. He is shown that happiness doesn’t lie in transformation, but in perspective.

Through the fantastical elements of magic footwear and moon travel, Andersen subtly weaves a very human message. The heart is not nourished by novelty alone but by appreciation. In revealing the quiet dignity of the ordinary, he invites readers to look at their own lives with gentler eyes. We are often surrounded by enough, but we are trained to want more. This chapter unpacks that tension and leaves readers with a truth that resonates beyond fairy tales. Magic may change your form, but only awareness changes your life.