Gaze at a masterpiece and you may be filled with wonder and awe at the artistic genius of its creator. But even before brush was laid to canvas, the painting’s story had already begun. Why was it produced? What purpose did it serve? Who was the artist? Who or what was the subject? And what were the relationships, politics, and circumstances that linked them?

For many years now, I have delved into the life of the painting itself: the circumstances under which it was created; its journey over the centuries, passing through the hands of a cast of characters, from kings and queens, to tragic lovers, spies and thieves; and the revolutions, the wars, the passions and the adventures – a reflection of life and the human condition – that the painting encountered along the way.

THE TRIBUNA OF THE UFFIZI (1772-78)

Johan Zoffany (The Royal Collection, London, currently not on show) In Zoffany’s painting, the great works at the famous Florentine gallery are reproduced with magnificent precision, but behind this remarkable 18th-century work is a saga of tremendous personal sacrifice.

Zoffany’s talent as a painter was unquestionable. As a renowned Royal Academician, he was highly respected by King George III and Queen Charlotte, and mingled with society’s elite. Yet he devoted his spare time to pursuing pretty young girls – preferably those from poor families who were not able to raise a fuss – to satisfy his sexual appetite.

Aboard a ship for Italy with a commission from Queen Charlotte to paint the famous Uffizi Gallery at the Tribuna, Zoffany was confronted by one of his conquests, a 14-year-old girl he had impregnated. Evicted in disgrace by her parents, she had stowed away on Zoffany’s vessel in desperation, to force him to deal with her face to face.

Zoffany was in a predicament. He was on his way to execute an important royal commission, and he was married. To his credit, the artist arranged for the girl’s care and education in Italy. Then, learning that his wife had recently died, he married the young mother of his child and went to work to fulfil his commission.

He became an adoring husband and father, but tragedy stuck when Zoffany’s one-year-old boy fell down a stairway and died of a head injury. Devastated by this greatest ofpersonal losses, the artist nevertheless fulfilled his royal commission, creating a masterpiece through his tears.

LADY MAITLAND (1817)

Sir Henry Raeburn (Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York) Lady Maitland was the wife of Frederick Lewis Maitland, the captain of HMS Bellerophon. The English navy had set up a blockade around France to prevent Napoleon’s escape after he had abdicated for the second time, eventually forcing the despot to surrender and wait on board the Bellerophon for the British Government to determine his fate.

The defeated warrior was given Captain Maitland’s own cabin for his temporary quarters. Seeing the portrait of a woman hanging on the cabin wall, Napoleon inquired who she was. Learning that it was Maitland’s wife, Napoleon responded: “Ah, she is both young and pretty.”

With news that the Bellerophon had arrived in Plymouth Sound bearing the fallen emperor, throngs of boaters tried to draw near the ship for a glimpse of its famous passenger. One of the few boats allowed to approach carried Maitland’s wife. Napoleon was on deck as it pulled up alongside. Recognising its passenger as the woman in the portrait, he called down to her, graciously inviting her on board. Captain Maitland intervened; no visitors were permitted. The emperor responded with another compliment: “I assure you, her portrait is not flattering; she is handsomer than it is.”

Raeburn’s portrait, painted two years later, shows Lady Maitland with a pensive expression. As she sat for the artist, she may have been thinking of the previous portrait that had hung in her husband’s cabin, attracting the admiration of the most feared man in the world.

THE HONOURABLE MRS GRAHAM (1775-77)

Thomas Gainsborough (National Gallery of Scotland, Edinburgh) One day in 1843, a gentleman by the name of Robert Graham received a letter informing him that his recently deceased cousin had left some paintings that would be delivered to him if he paid the storage fee. They had been in storage for more than 40 years. Although his cousin Thomas, Lord Lynedoch of Balgowan, had died in his 96th year, his memory had remained sharp up until his death; it was highly unlikely that he would have forgotten about the paintings.

Family tradition holds that Robert Graham met the courier at Dalcrue Bridge by the River Almond and, wildly curious about the contents of the cases, opened them on the spot. To his astonishment, one of the pictures was a full-length portrait of his cousin’s wife, Mary Graham, née Cathcart. Lord Lynedoch, a gallant soldier in the Napoleonic wars, had rarely spoken of his past, but Robert knew of their tragic romance.

Mary was one of several children of Baron Charles Schaw Cathcart of Scotland. Not long before Thomas first met Mary, the baron’s wife had died of tuberculosis after giving birth to her seventh child, Catherine Charlotte.

Thomas and Mary fell in love, married, and began a charmed life on his vast country estate. But, one by one, the other Cathcart family members succumbed to tuberculosis, and when Mary developed a cough, the spectre of this insidious disease took over the couple’s life. Slowly, Mary became very sick, and Thomas dropped all his business to tend to her. Even as the glow of her loveliness faded into a ghostly pallor, his devotion to her remained steady.

Her inevitable loss was devastating. To relieve his misery, Thomas joined a fighting regiment, but when he returned the next year to Scotland he found that his dear Catherine Charlotte, whose care had been entrusted to Mary after Lord Cathcart’s death, had herself died of the same disease.

It was too much. He put Mary’s portrait in storage and embarked upon a new life in the military in an effort to bury the unbearable memories of his beloved wife and adopted child.

It was with the knowledge of this distant fairytale-turned-tragedy that Robert Graham took Gainsborough’s portrait of the beautiful Mary from its case by the River Almond, to see the light of day after nearly half a century.

It’s easy to see how a canvas may be a launching pad for stories that stir the imagination. From the artist’s brushstrokes, people, places, and past worlds come alive.

Harvey Rachlin is the author of Scandals, Vandals and Da Vincis, published by Robson Books, £12.99, offer price £11.69 (timesonline.co.uk/ booksfirst 0870 1608080)

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