Chapter IV opens with a peculiar turn of events inside Frederick’s Hospital, where a pair of seemingly ordinary galoshes continues to shape lives in unexpected ways. A patient’s sudden recovery, traced back to the removal of those shoes, leaves the staff puzzled. These galoshes, forgotten in the commotion, are found and taken by a young hospital watchman. Fascinated more by practicality than magic, he decides to wear them on his shift. When a heavy rain begins and he’s faced with the challenge of squeezing between iron bars, he wishes to slip through effortlessly. The wish is granted, but not as he expects. Instead of success, he finds himself stuck in a rather comic but uncomfortable position, confused by the force behind it. His struggle ends not with triumph but humility. What he wanted, he got—but the experience left him questioning the nature of convenience, and more importantly, of intention.

Once free from his strange predicament, the watchman heads to a theater in King Street, hoping for rest and entertainment. The night features dramatic readings, with an especially curious poem taking center stage. It tells the tale of a young man who borrows his aunt’s enchanted spectacles. When worn, these glasses reveal not appearances but inner truths. Through them, the wearer sees into people’s hearts—their hidden desires, jealousies, regrets, and virtues. The audience laughs, though the humor has sharp edges. It’s satire laced with moral insight, and the message isn’t lost on the young watchman. He begins to wonder about the world beneath appearances. How much is hidden? And if such a view were possible, would he even want to see it?

After the reading, he slips back into the galoshes, still unaware of their full power. A quiet wish to understand others better sets off another surreal journey—this time, not through space, but through consciousness. Suddenly, he finds himself moving through the hearts of strangers in the theater. Each heart becomes a landscape: one a bitter winter of envy, another a hollow echo chamber of pride. Some are gardens of hope, while others are crumbling ruins of fear and guilt. The experience is not just enlightening—it’s overwhelming. He sees a priest whose compassion masks deep sorrow, a child with dreams too big for the world, and a noblewoman trapped by her own vanity. Every life is complicated, every soul carrying burdens no one else can see. The watchman’s understanding grows, but so does his weariness.

In one heart, he finds endless ambition. In another, an aching loneliness disguised by laughter. This metaphysical journey opens a window into the layered truths people carry. It becomes clear to him that surface appearances often tell the least accurate story. Those who appear happy may be aching. Those who are quiet may be wise. And those who laugh the loudest often hide the most pain. As the watchman travels deeper into this unseen world, a question begins to surface: how much truth is too much? If we truly saw into others, could we still interact with kindness and without fear?

The watchman eventually begs to return. The sights have taught him more than he thought possible, but they also leave him shaken. The galoshes respond to his desire, and he is pulled gently back into his body, seated again in the theater, surrounded by strangers whose hearts he now knows. A quiet gratitude fills him. Though changed, he feels more human—not because he saw others clearly, but because he now realizes how little we often understand. He removes the galoshes and places them beside his seat, unsure whether the journey was dream or truth.

This chapter cleverly folds fairy-tale elements into psychological depth. Andersen uses fantasy not for spectacle, but to reveal something about the reader’s world. The galoshes are not merely magical—they are mirrors reflecting our wants, unfiltered. The story asks: if you could see everyone as they truly are, would you still be kind? Would you still admire, trust, or love? In doing so, it encourages compassion, not just curiosity. Everyone has unseen struggles. Every soul is its own universe. And sometimes, not knowing everything allows us to treat each other with gentleness and grace.

What’s also compelling is the way Andersen plays with perspective. The galoshes grant power, but with every wish fulfilled comes a consequence—discomfort, confusion, or deep reflection. Through this, the author teaches restraint. Desires, even noble ones, can have sharp edges when granted too quickly. The galoshes challenge the wearer not just to wish but to think. That message remains relevant today, especially in an age where speed and instant gratification are often mistaken for progress. Andersen reminds us that the heart of wisdom is not knowledge alone, but humility. And in that humility lies a path toward understanding, both of ourselves and each other.