With the wardrobe of Elizabeth may be compared in size that of Augustus III., second Saxon King of Poland, which filled two halls of the palace, there having been for each dress a special watch, snuff-box, sword, and cane. Every dress was painted in miniature in a book, which every morning was presented to “his most serene Excellency,” as he caused himself to be called. He had as many as 1500 wigs, so that when his palace was occupied by Frederick the Great during the Seven Years’ War, he exclaimed contemptuously, “So many perrukes for a man who has no head.” The portraits of Anne of Denmark, queen of James I., indicate, it is said, a masculine character, and “display a tawdry and tasteless style of dress.” And it was at this period that the enormous fardingale was worn at Court, concerning which “unnatural disguisement” Lord Lytton, in his pedigree of the English gallant, tells the following amusing story: “When Sir Peter Wych was sent ambassador to the Grand Seignor from James I., his lady accompanied him to Constantinople, and the Sultaness, having heard much of her, desired to see her; whereupon Lady Wych, attended by her waiting-women, all of them dressed in their great fardingales, which was the Court dress of the English ladies at that time, waited upon her Highness. The Sultaness received her visitors with great respect, but, struck with the extraordinary extension of the hips of the whole party, seriously inquired if that shape was peculiar to the natural formation of English women, and Lady Wych was obliged to explain the whole mystery of the dress in order to convince her that she and her companions were not really so deformed as they appeared to be.” A pleasant little anecdote would lead us to imply that Henrietta Maria, consort of Charles I., relied on her own natural charms; for on her arrival in this country, when Charles seemed surprised to find her taller than he had expected, and cast his eyes upon her feet, as it suspecting that she had made use of artificial means to improve her stature, she immediately raised one of her feet, and pointed to the shoe. “Sir,” she said, “I stand upon my own feet. I have no helps of art. Thus high I am, and I am neither higher nor lower.”[120] This incident reminds us of Catherine of Braganza, who tried to introduce short skirts, being desirous, as Lady Carteret told Pepys, “to have the feet seen,” probably, it is said, owing to her having, like most of her countrywomen, small, well-turned feet; but, despite her exhibiting herself in this new fashion, she found few imitators, the ladies of the Court adhering to their long-flowing draperies.