The groves and the gardens as horticultural strategies for urban environmental resilience in ancient Rome: a multidisciplinary analysis of green oases as mitigation of stressors

1 Introduction

Roman attitudes toward gardens and green spaces reveal a strong association between urban horticulture and relief from environmental stressors. Literary texts including satire, philosophy, and natural history indicate that gardens were a part of daily life in both public and private contexts, integrated into the city fabric with deliberate design features. Martial’s depictions of window gardening hint at modest yet intentional efforts to cultivate plants in confined urban spaces, providing respite through freshness and beauty. Seneca’s remarks about pomaria grown atop walls underscore the presence of rooftop cultivation, tying greenery directly to architectural adaptation in dense settings.

Unlike the foundational works of Farrar (1998) and Hughes (1996), which emphasize the symbolic and social meanings of Roman green spaces, this investigation shifts the focus to the literary ‘how’ and ‘why’, by examining the quoted Latin and Greek texts more precisely. Through the literary investigation it asks which cultivation methods, planting strategies, and water-management technologies are mentioned by Roman and Greek authors, that made urban gardens and rooftop plantings viable, subjects that have received only marginal attention in classical scholarship.

The Roman interest, however, extended beyond practicality. Gardens could be laden with fruiting plants such as quinces, pears, grapes, pomegranates, apples, plums, and grain sheaves, as evidenced by frescoes linking cultivation to domestic architecture (Watts, 2015, p. 12). The principle of rus in urbe (rural life in the city), bringing countryside qualities into city dwellings, was a recognized ideal in domestic architecture across Rome, but foremost in Pompeii and Herculaneum, as there we have the most examples preserved due to the Vesuvius eruption in 79AD. This was achieved both through physical creation of oasis-like spaces within houses and via the graphic arts (Jashemski et al., 2018, pp.1-11)¹. Gardens became focal points framed by architectural sightlines (Purcell, 1996, p. 123, 128). Entering an ideal Roman house meant directing one’s gaze past the atrium and tablinum toward the garden beyond (Giesecke, 2001, p. 3). Such visual emphasis reinforced the perception of gardens as sanctuaries that insulated occupants from street-level intrusion and offered relief from heat or noise.

Water features added another dimension to this sanctuary-like effect. Ornamental pools could occupy substantial portions of peristyle gardens, sometimes nearly half or more, providing cooling through their reflective surfaces during hot weather and enhancing visual appeal with contained greenery or container plants placed along perimeters. At night, reflections from lamps created intricate patterns on the water, amplifying aesthetic pleasure. Varro (R. III, 17, 1-9) described fishponds integrated with aviaries and dining rooms, as well as Pliny the Elder (NH, IX, 171, 3-4) recorded estates sold at very high prices because of their fishponds:

• nam permutare quidem pretio noluit aliave merce. huius villam infra quam modicam XL piscinae vendiderunt. invasit dein singulorum piscium amor

• For he was indeed unwilling to exchange it for money or for any other merchandise. The fish-ponds sold his villa, than which nothing could be more modest, for 40 million sesterces. Then a passion for individual fish took hold

According to Pliny this was underlining the value placed on these watery retreats (Farrar, 1998, p. 103).

Beyond decorative value, such features improved microclimates within enclosed spaces. The desire for such retreats was also connected to literary expressions of rural nostalgia. Horace rejected aspects of Rome’s noise and smoke while praising rustic life; Martial extolled certain foods often cultivated locally; Juvenal lamented losses of natural beauty through urban projects (JD. Hughes, 1996, p. 165). Some compromised by creating or enjoying parks and gardens within city boundaries (JD. Hughes, 1996, p. 183), reflecting an impulse not to abandon urban advantages entirely but to recreate fragments of rural calm inside them.

The cultural longing for rus in urbe so richly illustrated by Farrar and Hughes presupposes a command of urban horticulture that neither author systematically reconstructs. This investigation therefore turns the experience of the garden by examining the substratum of texts without which the literary and pictorial ideal could not have been realized.

Public parks in Rome mirrored this tendency for structured escapes from congestion. Large tree-shaded areas like those opened by Vespasian near the Temple of Pax expanded green space in dense districts. Earlier, Maecenas transformed former burial grounds into a public park planted with trees and flowers (Hor. Sat., I, 1, 110-116; Ep. I, 2, 43-46). Private estates opened their gardens to communal use could effectively function as urban parks (Thompson, 1950, p. 105); Cimon’s garden offered such access centuries earlier in Athens. These examples show how Roman ambition for bucolical environments coexisted with civic generosity in shaping shared landscapes (JD. Hughes, 1996, p. 194). Even small homes could incorporate greenery. As archaeological evidence from Pompeii shows, container plants in light wells or window boxes where space prevented formal garden installation. The presence, even minimal, of living plants addressed sensory needs: fragrance from scented varieties were supposed to freshen the air, more over the visual greenery broke monotony and shaded courtyards improved light flow into surrounding rooms (Farrar, 1996, p. 64). Such benefits align closely with Stoic notions that physical environment influences mental state.

The other example are rooftop gardens possibly extended this sanctuary effect into vertical domains. Although preservation limitations leave function uncertain for Roman rooftops, descriptions from other periods (such as Nasir Khusraw’s account of multi-storey rooftop cultivation irrigated via ox-drawn water wheels) suggest feasibility under the right conditions (Watts, 2015, p. 20). In poorer quarters where resources were constrained, even modest kitchen gardens remained advantageous for nutrition and morale. The Roman valuation of these spaces rested equally on sensory enjoyment and utility.

The other point stands for decorative sculpture, that was spread purposefully among greenery to enhance views. Though this trompe l’oeil backdrops could extend perceived space when actual planting was limited (Farrar, 1996, p. 64). Same function had aquatic decorations inside ornamental pools, further contributed to sensory refuge: painted interiors depicting fish against blue backgrounds simulated motion as water rippled (Farrar, 1998, p. 89). In some cases mosaics replaced plaster linings for durability and ornamental richness.

The relevance of these findings extends beyond antiquity: the technical repertoire presented, that once sustained the rus in urbe ideal, e.g. container planting, reflective water surfaces, and vertical cultivation, anticipates principles now central to sustainable urbanism, from green roofs to rain gardens. This study thus positions Roman horticultural practice not merely as cultural ornament but as a pragmatic precedent with enduring environmental significance. Again Romans seem to surprise the modern world with their thinking of the world, which only shows that we share the same exact problems (Jashemski et al., 2018, pp.17-70).

Taken together, literary testimonies alongside archaeological detail illustrate how gardens acted as constructed refuges responding to specific urban pressures, heat moderated by shade or tributary surfaces; noise eased by secluded courtyards; pollution alleviated in enclosed green pockets, and simultaneously satisfied nostalgic aspirations toward rural ideals articulated by figures like Horace and Martial (JD. Hughes, 1996, p. 165; Watts, 2015, p. 12; Giesecke, 2001, p. 3; Farrar, 1998, p. 103).

2 Urban environmental problems in ancient Rome

2.1 Heat and climate stress in the city

The Mediterranean climate in Antiquity provided a distinctive backdrop for urban life, shaping both environmental conditions and cultural responses. While the region from the rainy Adriatic to the margins of the African desert varied considerably in precipitation, its general climatic character was marked by sun and dryness moderated by sea breezes. These agreeable traits could nonetheless intensify into discomfort during hotter periods, making shaded or cooled spaces highly valued. The sustained human impact on Mediterranean ecosystems meant that urban areas had to contend with heat stress embedded within broader ecological changes (JD. Hughes, 1996, p. 25). Roman authors and designers recognized these climatic challenges in their approach to urban green spaces. Peristyle gardens incorporating ornamental pools often dedicated almost half the available space to hydrologic flow. Such pools were not merely decorative; their reflective surfaces and proximity to shaded colonnades refreshed both body and spirit in high temperatures. The positioning ensured that views from surrounding rooms captured sparkling water through colonnaded frames, maximizing its cooling psychological effect. In hot weather, un-shaded gardens could be too uncomfortable for work or leisure, so life was conducted within shaded peristyles where breezes and water combined into microclimatic relief (Farrar, 1998, p. 103). Design innovations addressed both aesthetic and functional needs.

Continuous gutter basins along three sides of a garden collected rainwater from roofs above, eliminating additional drainage structures while also creating broad channels that served as visual focal points. In regions with higher rainfall, these channels likely handled greater flows of water, but even in drier climates their presence added a cooling element. The integration of rain capture systems reflects a sensitivity to resource availability under climatic constraints while enhancing garden utility for temperature moderation (Farrar, 1998, p. 95).

Within smaller residences at Pompeii or Ostia, container plants placed around light wells or windows offered scaled-down versions of this cooling strategy. Even without expansive plots, residents could bring greenery indoors or into confined courtyards, allowing fresher airflow and moderating interior heat. Trompe l’oeil backdrops depicting verdant scenes extended perceived space, lending psychological respite when physical planting was restricted. This attention to creating shaded, plant-rich environments connected directly to the Roman conception of rus in urbe, where in elements of rural tranquility were intentionally transposed into urban settings (Farrar, 1996, p. 64).

In literary contexts, pastoral nostalgia intertwined with practical responses to climate discomfort. Horace (Ep., I, 2, 43-46) extolled retreats from Rome’s heat and bustle, contrasting rustic calm with urban pressures (JD. Hughes, 1996, p. 165). Martial’s verses (Epig., XI, 18) depict modest attempts at cultivation even in constrained spaces such as window ledges, implicitly aligning homegrown freshness with relief from city weariness (Watts, 2015, p. 12):

• Donasti, Lupe, rus sub urbe nobis;sed rus est mihi maius in fenestra.Rus hoc dicere, rus potes vocare?in quo ruta facit nemus Dianae,argutae tegit ala quod cicadae,quod formica die comedit uno,clusae cui folium rosae corona est;in quo non magis invenitur herba,quam Cosmi folium piperve crudum;in quo nec cucumis iacere rectusnec serpens habitare tota possit.
• You gave us, Lupus, a country plot beneath the city;but the country plot I have on my windowsill is larger.Can you call this a country plot, can you call it countryside?There, a rue plant makes a grove for Diana;the wing of a shrill cicada serves as its canopy;an ant can eat it all in a single day;a rose leaf is a wreath for it.There is no more grass to be found there than a leaf of Cosmus or a raw pepper plant;there, a cucumber could not lie down lengthwise,nor could a snake fit inside it whole.

Juvenal (Sat., III, 71-74) also lamented changes that eroded natural beauty in urban landscapes (JD. Hughes, 1996, p. 165), reinforcing the value assigned to maintaining some pieces of greenery within built environments. Parks and gardens provided opportunities for structured escape: some Romans withdrew entirely to rural estates, others compromised by enjoying suburban villas or city parks rich with shade and seasonal plantings (JD. Hughes, 1996, p. 183).

Hydrological features often reinforced garden climate control. Fountains or narrow outlets channeled water gently across plant beds in drier climates such as Thuburbo Maius in Tunisia; at Hadrian’s villa multiple fountains and grottoes proliferated, indicating an almost theatrical employment of stream for cooling effect alongside display. The Aqua Virgo aqueduct supplied the public park associated with Agrippa’s baths by 19 BC, demonstrating infrastructural commitment toward sustaining lush greenery capable of mitigating heat stress even in central Rome (Farrar, 1996, p. 34).

The ornamental piscina did more than reflect sunlight; its sheer mass of water functioned as a diurnal thermal store. Water’s high specific heat capacity, roughly four times that of soil or masonry, allowed a large pond to absorb surplus heat during the afternoon without a sharp rise in temperature and to release it only slowly overnight. When combined with the rippling surfaces produced by miniature cascades or jet fountains (saliens), the same body of water drove evaporative cooling, stripping sensible heat from the adjacent air. Roman proprietors sited these basins not at random but in the heart of peristyle gardens where the prevailing summer breeze would carry the cooled, moistened air into colonnaded walkways and dining rooms (Plin. Ep. 5.6.23–25).

Equally deliberate was the choice of vegetation planted at the water’s edge and overhead. The plane tree (Platanus orientalis) (Sgrigna et al., 2020, p. 3), a staple of the Roman viridarium, possesses large, thin leaves and a notoriously high transpiration rate as ancient writers had already noted that the plane “drinks” prodigiously (Theophr. HP 4.5.6; Plin. NH, XII, 3-4; 4.). When planted in close rows or trained into a shady gestatio, planes created a saturated leaf-boundary layer immediately above the pond, enhancing the local vapour-pressure deficit and amplifying evaporative flux. Laurel (Laurus nobilis) and myrtle (Myrtus communis), both rich in essential oils and densely foliaged, were under planted as a mid-storey; their sclerophyllous leaves, though less thirsty than a plane’s, trapped moisture released from the pond and soil, maintaining a humid envelope long after the fountain was turned off. Pergolas draped with grapevines (Vitis vinifera) or ivy (Hedera helix) added a third vertical layer of transpirational cooling, while simultaneously shading the masonry benches and paved paths whose low albedo and high thermal mass would otherwise have radiated stored heat well into the evening.

The horticultural result was a purposely stratified microclimate: a deep, thermally stable pool; a cool, humid understorey of evergreen shrubs; a deciduous canopy of high-transpiring trees; and a laced vine-cover that intercepted direct radiation before it could warm the ground. Modern micrometeorological studies of historic Mediterranean gardens confirm that such an arrangement can depress air temperature by 3–5 °C relative to an unplanted courtyard (Rahman et al., 2017: 118; Ornelas et al., 2023: 4), an effect that the Romans themselves recognized in the sensory language of amoenitas and refrigeratio.

From domestic courtyards to imperial parks, Roman strategies against heat reveal a layered response, combining architectural planning with plant selection and water management, that deliberately modified urban microclimates within a Mediterranean setting known for periods of intense warmth (JD. Hughes, 1996, p. 25; Farrar, 1998, p. 103; Farrar, 1996, p. 64; Farrar, 1998, p. 95). These measures did more than alleviate physical discomfort; they nurtured republican nostalgia through environments evoking simpler agrarian rhythms while protecting inhabitants from climatic extremes intrinsic to city life.

2.2 Air quality and the sources of pollution

Roman urban life was profoundly affected by persistent air quality issues, with numerous ancient testimonies acknowledging their prevalence and discomfort. The city atmosphere was laden with smoke, dust, and odors arising from a broad spectrum of activities. Domestic heating and lighting relied heavily on open fires, smoking oil lamps, and charcoal braziers, which released particulates directly into living spaces and streets (JD. Hughes, 1996, p. 209). Production-oriented emissions added to the burden: metalworking furnaces, kilns for pottery, and industrial processing such as the refining of gold and silver sent dense plumes into the air. Homer’s reference to smoke as the primary signifier of human habitation (Odys. I, 57-59) underscores how such pollution was visible even from afar.

In the contrary to the Greek Poet, Horace (Od., III, 6, 1-4) remarked on the thousands of wood-burning fires in Rome, reinforcing both their ubiquity and their contribution to the city’s haze (JD. Hughes, 1996, p. 179):

• Delicta maiorum immeritus lues,
• Romane, donec templa refeceris
• aedesque labentis deorum et
• foeda nigro simulacra fumo.

• Undeservedly you will pay for the sins of your ancestors,
• O Roman, until you have restored the temples,
• the crumbling shrines of the gods,
• and their statues foul with black smoke.

In addition, the quoted piece is the closing stanza in which Horace blames Rome’s moral and political decline on the neglect of the gods and the decay of traditional piety. The idea is that the current generation suffers for ancestral guilt, and only a return to religious reverence symbolized by rebuilding the neglected temples and cleaning the smoke blackened statues can set things right.

Certain processes emitted especially hazardous substances. The silver smelters of Spain dispersed lead-laden fumes through tall chimneys; other industries released arsenic, mercury, and ammonia (JD. Hughes, 1996, p. 209). Workers in direct contact with these materials faced acute risks, but many residents were exposed inadvertently. Lead poisoning operated insidiously, its cumulative effects seldom recognized at the time, while mercury and arsenic contaminated foodstuffs, objects in daily use, or surrounding soils. These toxic inputs may have contributed to wider health decline in urban populations. The absence of technologies for treating effluents meant contaminants remained unmitigated once released. The breadth of pollution sources extended beyond industrial plants. Everyday cooking smoke combined with dust raised from constant traffic along unpaved streets.

Therefore, the air pollution was not the only problem underlined by Roman poets. Martial in the epigram V, 22, while complaining to his friend, criticized city noise, but his complaint is intertwined with imagery that also reflects a polluted environment, the predawn traffic stirred particulate matter alongside sound:

• Alta Suburani vincenda est semita clivi
• Et numquam sicco sordida saxa gradu,
• Vixque datur longas mulorum rumpere mandras
• Quaeque trahi multo marmora fune vides.

• You must conquer the steep path of the Suburan hill,
• and the dirty paving−stones, never dry underfoot;
• and it’s hardly possible to break through the long strings of mules,
• and you see the marble blocks being dragged by a great rope.

Also Juvenal’s (Sat., 3, 254-291) depiction of urban ills included degradation of natural beauty through public works projects, a transformation that often accompanied airborne debris and soot (JD. Hughes, 1996, p. 165).

Suburban encroachment onto fertile lands noted by Horace diminished agricultural buffers that might otherwise have helped clear or filter polluted air. Vegetation within urban gardens offered a partial countermeasure to these conditions.

Studies comparing modern analogues suggest that dense foliage can trap significant amounts of particulates; ancient descriptions point toward an awareness of this effect (Watts, 2015, p. 31). Live plants were scented not solely for pleasure but also to mask unpleasant odors associated with cramped quarters or nearby waste disposal sites. Courtyard greenery facilitated better air circulation into interiors while introducing leaves capable of intercepting dust. The salubrity of air moving through plant-covered spaces was recognized explicitly by Vitruvius (Arch., VIII, 2) as he stated that air from greenery is rarefied and could remove humors from the eyes and body:

• caloris vero si non fuerit in corpore iusta comparatio, non erit spiritus animalis neque erectio firma, cibique vires non poterunt habere coctionis temperaturam. item si non terrestri cibo membra corporis alantur, deficient et ita a terreni principii mixtione erunt deserta.

• But if there is not a proper proportion of heat in the body, there will be no vital breath nor firm upright posture, and the nourishing power of food will not be able to attain the right temperature for digestion. Likewise, if the limbs of the body are not nourished by earthly food, they will waste away, and in this way they will be deprived of the admixture of the earthy principle.

In this passage, Vitruvius is drawing an analogy between the human body and the natural world, arguing that just as the body needs a balance of heat (from the air/fire) and solid nourishment (from the earth) to maintain life, so too the world requires a proper mixture of elements. The “earthy principle” (terrenum principium) is the material foundation that gives substance to things.

Urban green pockets thus performed dual roles, sensory refuge from foul smells and practical filtering agents against particulate matter, and may have doubled as quiet zones shielded from busy streets’ pollutants. Windows furnished with container plants or balconies supporting vines provided smaller scale filtration units integrated directly into multi-storey dwellings (Watts, 2015, p. 30). Roof gardens, where feasible, would have placed vegetation closer to prevailing breezes above street-level emissions.

As already mentioned, public parks similarly contributed by hosting larger concentrations of trees whose canopy could intercept airborne particulates before dispersal across pedestrian zones. Such tree-planted areas alongside monuments or bath complexes benefited not only from shade but also from improved air freshness compared to asphalted streets or stone plazas devoid of greenery (JD. Hughes, 1996, p. 183). Shaded colonnades have been previously discussed in terms of temperature relief, therefore, here their enclosing vegetation plays into an atmospheric mitigation narrative, reducing both visible haze and olfactory offensiveness.

The Roman commitment to these spaces appears rooted partly in republican nostalgia for agrarian virtue (Watts, 2015, p. 2). Gardens evoked self-sufficiency ideals tied to rural life, contrasting sharply with polluted civic centers. This impulse found expression in transformations such as Maecenas’ conversion of burial grounds into tree filled parks (JD. Hughes, 1996, p. 194), signaling a moral alignment between cleaner air and nobler societal values. Private courtyards containing medicinal herbs reinforced this linkage by binding environmental improvement with health-oriented symbolism. Despite these interventions, the scale of pollution remained immense; Hughes notes that cities could be recognized at great distances due to their smoke-filled airscape (JD. Hughes, 1996, p. 179). Without effective technological suppression, chimneys merely dispersed poisons higher, the most practical responses lay in spatial retreats into enclosed or vegetated environments.

When Vitruvius (I, 4,12) observes that groves “thin” the air, he is recording an ancient but perfectly sound piece of aerobiology (Dillon, 1997). Modern atmospheric chemistry has shown that the passage of polluted air through a dense canopy removes not only the coarse dust visible to the Roman eye but also the fine particulate matter (PM₁₀ and PM_2.5) that today we recognise as the most harmful fraction of urban smoke. Trees operate as vegetative filters through two principal mechanisms: direct interception of particles on leaf and bark surfaces, and the creation of turbulent micro-eddies that cause particles to settle out of the airstream. The combined effect is often termed “dry deposition”, and its efficiency correlates strongly with canopy density, leaf area index (LAI), and the surface texture of the foliage.

The Roman pleasure garden, dense with evergreen shrubs and stately trees, was a purpose-built, high-surface-area trap for the fumus and fuligo that poured from innumerable bakeries, bath-house furnaces, and bronze-casters’ crucibles. In particular, evergreen species, which, unlike deciduous plane trees, retain their filtering surfaces during the winter when the city’s demand for fuel and the frequency of thermal inversions were highest, played an outsized role. The cypress (Cupressus sempervirens), stone pine (Pinus pinea), and juniper (Juniperus communis), staples of the Roman hortus and topiarius, each bear needles or scales with a dense epicuticular wax coating. That wax layer traps fine particulates by electrostatic adhesion, while the high leaf area index of a mature cypress hedge (LAI commonly 4–7 m²/m²) ensures that a large volume of air is physically sieved with each pass of the breeze. Modern studies on urban conifers in the Mediterranean basin demonstrate that a single mature pine can intercept tens of grams of PM₁₀ per year, and that a continuous hedge of Cupressus can lower downwind particle concentrations by 15–30% over distances of a few tens of meters (Nowak et al., 2006; Mori et al., 2018). To Vitruvius’s unaided senses, that scrubbing action would indeed have felt like a “thinning” of the oppressive city air.

Canopy density, not merely species choice, governs the magnitude of the effect. The tightly clipped boxwood parterres, ivy-clad trellis-work, and layered plantings recorded in Roman wall-paintings created a multiple-tier interception surface from ground level to the crown. The underplanting of laurel (Laurus nobilis), myrtle (Myrtus communis), and rosemary (Rosmarinus officinalis) added a shrub layer whose rough, often hairy, leaf surfaces are particularly efficient at capturing smaller particles (PM_2.5) (Weerakkody et al., 2018, p. 99). Furthermore, the microclimate created by this dense planting—cooler and more humid than the surrounding insulae, likely enhanced particle deposition, as higher relative humidity increases the water film on leaves, raising the capture efficiency for hygroscopic smoke particles. Vitruvius’ “thinning” may therefore be understood as the perceptible result of a physical process: a stratified, evergreen-dominated garden canopy acting as a bio-scrubber for the particulate-laden air of the ancient megalopolis.

Archaeobotanical excavations from Pompeii indicate that some ancient gardens were intentionally planted with trees such as olive or citron within city walls, creating micro-environments where shade combined with filtered airflow might have mitigated both dust deposition and odor nuisance (Jashemski et al., 2018, pp.455-480, pp.432-454); surviving carbonized plant remains linked to these spaces suggest they held functional as well as aesthetic value (Jashemski, 1976, p. 6).

In certain cases this concern for breathable space intersected deeply with political symbolism: ownership or transformation of monumental gardens like the Horti Luculliani conveyed not only personal luxury but also statements about power and surveillance over Rome’s social topography (Gleason, 2009, p. 10). The gardens lay just above the spot where the Aqua Virgo reappeared from its subterranean channel through the hill, near the junction of today’s Vie due Macelli and Capo le Case. Their eastern edge likely followed the ancient road that crossed the Pincian Hill from the Porta Salutaris, roughly the line of the modern Via Porta Pinciana, while the western limit sat on the hill slope above the Due Macelli. How far they extended to the north is not recorded. Ancient authors remark on the gardens’ great beauty, and one of the halls there was apparently dedicated to Apollo. Plutarch describes the gardens as overwhelmingly luxurious and even calls Lucullus Xerxes in toga due to the expenses he made to create this refugium (Plut., Luc., 39):

• Оἱ ΛϵυκОλλιανОὶ κῆπОι τῶν βασιλικῶν ἐν τОῖς πОλυτϵλϵστάτОις ἀριθμОῦνται. τὰ δ’ ἐν τОῖς παραλίОις καὶ πϵρὶ νέαν πόλιν ἔργα, λόφОυς ἀνακρϵμαννύντОς αὐτОῦ μϵγάλОις ὀρύγμασι, καὶ τρОχОὺς θαλάσσης καὶ διαδρОμὰς ἰχθυОτρόφОυς τОῖς ОἰκητηρίОις πϵριϵλίσσОντОς, καὶ διαίτας ἐναλίОυς κτίζОντОς, ὁ Στωικὸς τОυβέρων θϵασάμϵνОς Ξέρξην αὐτὸν ἐκ τηβέννОυ πρОσηγόρϵυσϵν.

• The Lucullan gardens are counted among the most lavish of the imperial possessions. But as for his works on the coast and around Neapolis, how he suspended hills by means of huge excavations, and wound around his residences with channels of the sea and fish-breeding runs, and built pavilions out into the water, the Stoic Tubero, when he saw them, called him Xerxes in a toga.

Thus refugia and gardens functioned as intentional escapes from deteriorated atmospheric conditions: segments of nature brought inside urban walls as shields against the tainted breath of Rome itself (JD. Hughes, 1996, p. 209, 179; Watts, 2015, p. 30-31).

3 The political symbolism of countryside and rural nostalgia

3.1 The countryside as symbol of golden age (aetas aurea)

The Roman conception of the countryside incorporated layers of political meaning intertwined with ideas of moral renewal and urban-rural balance that belonged to previous, republican era. That was supposed to be time, when people lived closer to the nature, their lives were simple, calm and did not have to face any challenges. Of course it has to be pointed out that this image was idealized, not related to the truth, however in the mind of Romans, especially the Roman elites, the times of Roman Republic were the Golden Age, compared to sinful and morally lax modern era.

Literary and architectural evidence points to an ideal summarized by the already mentioned term rus in urbe, aiming to embed “pastoral” qualities within the city itself. This ideal held civic resonance beyond private enjoyment and it was also the main part of Latin bucolic poetry. In Pompeii and Herculaneum, urban houses, even those situated on dense streets, were constructed around gardens that formed their core, extending nature into architectural space through both physical planting and graphic arts.

The visual axis from atrium to the garden pulled a visitor’s gaze toward greenery, framing it as the focal point of reception and negotiation areas (Giesecke, 2001, p. 3). Such structuring carried symbolic weight: the countryside, recreated within walls, was not merely an aesthetic haven but an emblem of virtuous life accessible amidst civic duties. The Augustan period magnified this symbolism. Augustus’s urban program sought a moral society grounded in traditional Roman values, reflected in sacro-idyllic landscapes (Kellum, 1994) and mythological ensembles decorating domestic interiors during his predominance (Giesecke, 2001, p. 16). These environments replaced earlier paintings whose vistas suggested individual “retreat” from civil strife, with imagery reinforcing confidence in the new regime. The shift away from private escape toward shared civic ideals indicates how pastoral representation could align with state authority. Gardens at the core of houses, nature inscribed throughout domestic space, embodied a somehow utopian impulse meant to be broadly attainable for the elites. They were safe places for contemplation, standing metaphorically as havens from uncertainty while serving as controlled expressions of agrarian virtue within the city. The political messaging embedded in cultivated space extended beyond private homes into public landscapes.

Historical accounts describe transformations where land formerly associated with death or marginal use became symbols of renewal through greenery. Maecenas converted burial grounds into a park planted with trees and flowers, an act combining environmental improvement with moral reform (JD. Hughes, 1996, p. 194). Public parks allowed citizens to partake in shaded walks and seasonal displays without abandoning urban life, reinforcing a connection between physical access to “countryside” elements and republican values tied to communal well-being.

This interplay of nostalgia and political symbol emerges also in Columella’s writings on rural management. His structuring of livestock-focused books in De re rustica shows attentive linkage between agricultural science and it s integration with villa operations (Henderson, 2002, p. 12). By situating aviaries, fishponds, apiaries, and game enclosures within sight or reach of the farmhouse (iuxta vilam), Columella’s model maintained continuity between productive rural space and domestic life. Such arrangements were practical for manure supply or table enrichment but also served as visible tokens of cultivated order, a microcosm of a well-governed estate echoing broader ideals for the polity. On a more personal literary level, Horace’s praise for retreats contrasted strongly with what he saw as Rome’s environmental drawbacks (JD. Hughes, 1996, p. 165). His preference for rustic calm over the city’s heat, pollution, and bustle linked directly to republican nostalgia: rural settings embodied simplicity and moral clarity absent from crowded capitals. Martial’s depictions of modest gardens, even window box plantings, carry similar undertones (Watts, 2015, p. 12), asserting value in cultivating one’s own produce amid urban constraints.

Such imagery reinforced self-sufficiency as a virtue aligned with agrarian heritage. Even displays within historical kitchen gardens at European living history museums demonstrate explicit layering of messages about past agrarian life and calls for future preservation of biodiversity (Jordan, 2010, p. 23, 25). Although these examples stand outside ancient Rome chronologically, they illuminate how coupling nostalgia with practical instruction can guide public perception toward valuing sustainable agriculture as part of cultural identity, a framework compatible with Roman precedent where horticulture symbolized both memory of rural virtue and vision for societal renewal.

The ornamental plants of a Roman town garden were chosen with semiotic as much as sensuous intent. Under Augustus, the myth of the aetas aurea i.e. the lost age of Saturn in which the earth gave freely, spring was eternal, and war was unknown was aggressively reactivated as a political metaphor for the new peace (Pax Augusta). Virgil’s Fourth Eclogue had already proclaimed the return of the Golden Age in botanical terms: “the uncultivated earth shall pour forth its first gifts, wandering ivy and foxglove everywhere, and the lotus mixed with the smiling acanthus” (Ecl. IV, 18–20). Gardeners, many of them freedmen who moved in the households of the political elite, translated this literary program into the living language of the peristyle.

The laurel (Laurus nobilis) is the most transparent example. Sacred to Apollo, the god most closely associated with the new Augustan order, the laurel stood at the entrance to the emperor’s own house on the Palatine, flanking the doorposts and framing the corona civica of oak leaves. To plant laurel in a private garden was to replicate the Palatine arrangement in miniature, declaring loyalty to the princeps and an aspiration to the Apolline virtues of purity, victory, and prophecy (Hageneder, 2000, p. 65; Hageneder, 2005b, p. 123). When Ovid describes Augustus’s laurels as “evergreen and flourishing” (Met. I, 562-565), he invests them with the very perpetuity that Golden Age ideology promised. A citizen who clipped a pair of laurel trees in tubs on either side of a garden door was, quite literally, planting political allegiance.

Other plants carried equally charged meanings. The myrtle (Myrtus communis), beloved of Venus, spoke of the generative, peaceable fertility that replaced the sword, hence Horace’s “myrtle groves” in his Odes as places of tranquil symposium, far from the din of civil war (Hageneder, 2000, p. 65; Hageneder, 2005b, p. 131). The Roman conception of the countryside as a symbol of moral renewal cannot be separated from their relationship with nature and the forest, a connection that carried both religious and political significance (Gros de Beler et al., 2009, p. 91-97). The plane tree (Platanus orientalis), though borrowed from the Greek philosophical tradition, could evoke the serene academies of Plato and Aristotle, lending the patron an air of Hellenised civic virtue. Ivy (Hedera helix), twinned with the thyrsus of Bacchus and the crown of poets, whispered of Dionysiac abundance and the golden ease celebrated in the Georgics. Even the vine, trained over a pergola, was not merely a source of shade and fruit: it was the gift of Bacchus, and its presence recalled the miraculous fertility of the Saturnian earth, before the invention of ploughing and toil. When these species were combined (laurel and myrtle interplanted, ivy encircling a plane-tree trunk, vines draping a colonnade) the result was a curated assemblage of living symbols. The garden became a three-dimensional laus Augusti the praise of Augustus, readable to any visitor schooled in the shared visual culture of the early empire.

This was political communication in chlorophyll. Unlike a statue or a frieze, a garden changed with the seasons yet remained recognisably the same; its symbolic force was renewed each spring, matching the ideological promise of perpetual rebirth. Moreover, the rarity or difficulty of a plant could enhance its message. The palm (Phoenix dactylifera), imported from the East and notoriously difficult to maintain in Rome, was a luxury item that declared the owner’s command over distant trade routes and, by extension, the global peace that made such imports possible. Pliny the Elder (NH, 12.3.6–7) catalogues the astronomical prices paid for exotic trees and notes that even a single foreign specimen conferred enormous prestige. Thus ornamental horticulture functioned not only as an escape from the city’s polluted air, but as a silent manifesto of the patron’s place within the restored cosmic and political order—a small slice of the aetas aurea enclosed within the domus.

In mythic contexts adapted by Roman writers like Vergil, Horace, Ovid, and others linking countryside imagery to political consequence was likewise prominent. Tacitus’ account (An., XI, 31) framing Messalina’s actions in performative garden space highlights how gardens functioned as transitional venues allowing social license beyond ordinary rules (Stackelberg, 2009, p. 18). Here the cultivated setting became an arena for symbolic acts affecting imperial succession, conflating personal drama with political outcome against a backdrop rooted in controlled nature:

• at Messalina non alias solutior luxu, adulto autumno simulacrum vindemiae per domum celebrabat. urgeri prela, fluere lacus; et feminae pellibus accinctae adsultabant ut sacrificantes vel insanientes Bacchae; ipsa crine fluxo thyrsum quatiens, iuxtaque Silius hedera vinctus, gerere cothurnos, iacere caput, strepente circum procaci choro. ferunt Vettium Valentem lascivia in praealtam arborem conisum, interrogantibus quid aspiceret, respondisse tempestatem ab Ostia atrocem, sive coeperat ea species, seu forte lapsa vox in praesagium vertit.

• But Messalina, never more dissolute in luxury, was celebrating in the house a mock vintage festival as autumn was at its height. Presses were being worked, vats were flowing; and women, girt with animal skins, were leaping about like sacrificing or raving Bacchants. She herself, with flowing hair, was brandishing a thyrsus, and beside her Silius, crowned with ivy, wore the tragic buskins and tossed his head, while a wanton chorus shrieked around them. They say that Vettius Valens, in a fit of wantonness, climbed a very tall tree, and when asked what he could see, answered that a dreadful storm was coming from Ostia — whether such an apparition had actually begun, or a word let slip by chance turned into an omen.

Tacitus presents the infamous scene of Messalina’s mock Bacchic revelry while Claudius is away at Ostia. The “storm from Ostia” is a grim piece of dramatic irony: Claudius’ arrival will soon sweep away her reckless world. The description is richly theatrical, casting her as a Maenad and Silius as Dionysus, just before the final crisis.

Overall, references from architecture, literature, agronomic treatises, and public landscaping show how Romans infused countryside elements within urban boundaries to communicate republican ideals.

3.2 Otium as cultural and philosophical ideal in life of Roman elites

The Roman concept of otium, a term encompassing leisure, withdrawal from public pressures, and engagement with intellectual or pleasurable pursuits, was deeply bound to the spatial and philosophical dimensions of gardens. Epicureanism provides a compelling literary and historical context for this association. Pliny the Elder credited Epicurus as the initiator of the Roman “pleasure” garden, redefining horticultural space into a locus of repose rather than solely a productive plot. Such pleasure gardens emerged during the waning years of the Republic when Epicurean ideals were enjoying popularity in Italy. In this period, domestic architecture began to incorporate landscape elements directly into interiors, often through illusionistic painting in the so-called Second Style.

These painted vistas extended the visual reach of rooms toward imagined gardens or countryside scenes. Owners need not have been Epicureans, but this stylistic shift reveals a broader inclination to integrate the sensory and contemplative qualities of greenery within urban dwellings. The experience provided by these houses combined two psychological modes: prospect and refuge. Prospect allowed habitants to see over considerable distances, real or painted, while refuge enclosed them securely within walls. This conjunction created aesthetic satisfaction and imbued spaces with conditions once essential for survival: the ability to observe without being observed (Giesecke, 2001, p. 8). From many points within Roman houses, gradually revealed inscribed landscapes could be enjoyed: faux vistas substituted where no actual outdoor views were possible (Jashemski et al., 2018, pp.258-277). Such architectural framing constituted an active spatial manifestation of otium, situating leisure and contemplation amidst protective boundaries (Jashemski et al., 2018, pp. 258-277).

The political climate after battle in Actium in 31 BC altered the tone of garden imagery. Augustus’s moral program sought to suppress private inclination toward “retreat” that characterized late Republican domestic painting. In its place arose sacro-idyllic landscapes and Third Style (Kellum, 1994 p. 213), i.e. mythological scenes communicating confidence in the new regime (Giesecke, 2001, p. 12). Yet even within this shift, the primacy of the garden remained fundamental: ideal Roman houses continued to be constructed around nature inscribed at their core, offering safe places for meditation on uncertainties beyond their bounds The Roman garden, as a space of otium, was deeply rooted in an ambivalent relationship with the primordial forest—a space where, as Grimal observed, 'horror mingled with primitive veneration' (Gros de Beler et al., 2009, p. 91). This tension between public moral alignment and private sanctuary suggests that otium operated simultaneously at personal and civic levels.

From an agronomic perspective, Columella’s arrangement of productive amenities into close relation with the villa itself reinforced otium as a balanced state between engagement and withdrawal. By situating aviaries, fishponds, apiaries, game enclosures, and vegetable plots within sight or reach of residential quarters (iuxta uillam), he integrated labor spaces directly into zones of leisure (Henderson, 2002, p. 22).

Such proximity meant that one could partake in intellectual or social activities while maintaining awareness of productive processes, a microcosm linking philosophical ideals with practical self-sufficiency. Roman gardens also drew upon mythic associations aligning leisure spaces with divine patronage over arts, music, and contemplation. Structures like Varro’s Museion, dwelling place of Muses beside a stream, connected garden space explicitly with inspiration. Nymphs linked to springs served as fountain figures; rustic genre statuary, shepherds carrying animals or fishermen, could subtly encode Orphic or Christian symbolism emphasizing harmony with nature and spiritual care (Farrar, 1996, p. 44). These iconographic inclusions amplified contemplative ambience while allowing owners to mask religious beliefs if necessary. In Epicurean philosophy, withdrawal from crisis was literal, adherents retreated physically into their gardens insofar as possible (Giesecke, 2001, p. 8). Lucretius vividly captured this metaphor in describing Epicurus’s Garden as solace against life’s tempests: gazing from shore upon another’s tribulation brought sweet recognition of one’s own safety (Giesecke, 2001, p. 12).

The garden thus became an emblematic refuge not only from environmental discomforts such as heat or pollution (as discussed in Section 2.1.1) but also from political turmoil and ethical decay perceived in urban society. Even ornamental elements reinforced leisure ideals. Ornamental pools occupying large sections of peristyle gardens mirrored aquatic bodies of rural retreats; their reflective surfaces cooled air and provided ocular pleasure during hot weather (Farrar, 1998, p. 103). In smaller homes where space constrained planting options, trompe l’oeil backdrops depicting verdant expanses allowed occupants to indulge visually in pastoral scenes, the illusion sustaining mental retreat when physical immersion was impracticable (Farrar, 1996, p. 64). Otium’s philosophical depth extended into later interpretations where modern architectural theorists noted parallels between Roman urban villas and early twentieth century ideals insisting on meaningful dialogue between dwelling and nature (Giesecke, 2001, p. 3). In both cases, landscaped interiors functioned as restorative devices critical to architectural fulfillment.

Overall, literary testimonies, from Pliny crediting Epicurus’s innovation to Lucretius’ poetic metaphors, and archaeological evidence converge toward a portrait of Roman gardens as deliberately structured environments enabling leisure without forfeiting productive contact. Whether framed by lofty colonnades enclosing water-fed greenery or miniature courtyards adorned with container plants, these spaces materialized themes intrinsic to otium: security amid beauty, contemplation amid moderation, refuge amid order. They shielded inhabitants from both physical hardships inherent in city life and moral anxieties born from political upheaval while sustaining republican nostalgia through tangible evocation of countryside virtues inside urban walls.

4 Green vegetation for creating the idyllic city-shelter

4.1 Shade trees, evergreen plants and cooling vegetation

Roman approaches to planting for shade and cooling reveal how vegetation was intentionally selected and arranged not only to mitigate heat and create sheltered retreats within both private gardens and communal green spaces, but also to evoke a desired bucolical arrangement of the place with the right aim to create the locus amoenus. In peristyle houses, the ideal form fully enclosed the central plot with four covered porticoes, ensuring that planted areas received protection from intense sun throughout the day. Low barrier fences or curtain poles placed between structural supports allowed seasonal shading adjustments. Pliny the Elder records the use of red curtains to shield moss in peristyles (NH., XIX, 6, 24), illustrating active interventions to guard delicate groundcover from excessive sunlight (Farrar, 1996, p. 22):

• deinde et sine ludis Marcellus Octavia Augusti sorore genitus in aedilitate sua, avunculi XI consulatu, a kal. Aug. velis forum inumbravit, ut salubrius litigantes consisterent, quantum mutati a moribus Catonis censorii, qui sternendum quoque forum muricibus censuerat! vela nuper et colore caeli, stellata, per rudentes iere etiam in amphitheatris principis Neronis. rubent in cavis aedium et muscum ab sole defendunt.

• And then, even without games, Marcellus, son of Octavia, the sister of Augustus, during his aedileship, in the eleventh consulship of his uncle, from the first of August shaded the Forum with awnings, so that litigants might stand in greater comfort — how far changed from the ways of Cato the Censor, who had proposed that even the Forum be paved with spiked stones! Lately awnings, even dyed the color of the sky and studded with stars, have run along ropes even in the amphitheaters of the emperor Nero. They are red in the inner courts of houses and protect the moss from the sun.

Shade providing plantings were not limited to structured hedges or low borders (Table 1). Fragrant species, climbing vines, and flowering plants were favored where they could offer both olfactory pleasure and filtered light. Foliage plants introduced into these settings performed environmental work by softening glare and masking odors arising from city life (Farrar, 1996, p. 64; Watts, 2015, p. 31). The dense canopies of well-maintained shrubs trapped dust and improved circulating air, qualities valued in polluted urban contexts as described by Vitruvius’s observation (Arch., V, 9, 5-6) that greenery “rarefied” air and removed harmful humors (Watts, 2015, p. 31):

Table 1. Functional classification of principal ornamental plants in Roman peristyle gardens.

Key: ⚫ = primary function; ○ = secondary or partial function; – = function negligible or not attested.

Sources: Plin. HN 12.6–13, 16.139–142; Theophr. HP 4.5; Columella Rust. 10; Varro Rust. 1.23; Jashemski and Meyer (2002) The Natural History of Pompeii; for modern functional classification see Sæbø et al. (2012) and Nowak et al. (2006).

• Hoc autem ita esse ex eo licet animadvertere, quod, sub tectis cum sint aquarum fontes aut etiam sub terra palustris abundantia, ex his nullus surgit umor nebulosus, sed in apertis hypaethrisque locis, cum sol oriens vapore tangat mundum, ex umidis et abundantius excitat umores et exconglobatos in altitudinem tollit. Ergo si ita videtur, uti in hypaethris locis ab aere umores ex corporibus exsugantur molestiores, quemadmodum ex terra per nebulas videntur, non puto dubium esse, quin amplissimas et ornatissimas subdiu hypaethrisque conlocari oporteat in civitatibus ambulationes.

• That this is so may be observed from the fact that when there are springs of water under cover, or even an abundance of marshy water underground, no misty moisture rises from them; but in open, hypaethral places, when the rising sun touches the world with its heat, it stirs up moisture from wet areas more abundantly, and lifts it in condensed form to the heights. Therefore, if it appears that in hypaethral places the more troublesome moistures are drawn out of bodies by the air, just as they are seen to be drawn from the earth in the form of mists, I do not think there is any doubt that in cities the most spacious and most ornate walkways ought to be placed in the open air and under the sky.

Vitruvius is here discussing the proper design of porticoes and public walks (ambulationes). He argues that covered spaces trap damp exhalations, while open−air (hypaethra) locations allow the sun to draw up and disperse moisture, making them healthier for strolling. The logic is drawn from the observed behavior of natural springs and marshy ground.

In larger domestic gardens and villas, tree planting formed part of an intentional microclimate strategy. These trees balanced ornamental form with functional canopy cover, allowing circulation beneath their branches while sheltering adjoining built structures from heat gain.

Dense foliage regulates runoff much like the “sponge” effect described by ancient writers. As moisture retained in soil beneath evergreen cover prevented floods and sustained stream flow long after rainfall ceased (Hageneder, 2000, pp. 26–27). That is why in Mediterranean region in case of sacred places and home-made refugia, the link between canopy persistence and watershed protection was widely recognized, e.g. Plato himself commenting on the loss of springs when upland forests were removed (Plat. Crat. 402b-403a).

For the Romans concerned with urban resilience against environmental stressors, planting shady trees, evergreens within gardens reproduced this moderating influence on local soil moisture (Jashemski et al., 2018, pp.369-401, 455-480), contributing indirectly to cooling effects noted in sections on water features. While box hedges or clipped shapes provided visual order, taller evergreen species offered stable overhead shade that complemented architectural shelter from colonnades. In peristyle houses where open plots might otherwise be bare in winter after deciduous leaf-fall, evergreen canopies kept light filtration consistent and ensured ongoing masking of undesirable sights or smells from outside walls (Farrar, 1996, p. 64; Watts, 2015, p. 31). Their foliage trapped dust year-round, a benefit especially relevant under Rome’s polluted atmosphere highlighted elsewhere, and maintained olfactory barriers through planted aromatic species.

Indeed, ancient observers recorded that removal of forest cover near cities amplified extremes of heat and cold while exposing soils to erosion; persistent evergreen stands may have countered some of these effects by breaking wind flow and holding moisture that otherwise would have been lost during seasonal downpours (JD. Hughes, 1976, p. 8). Comparable insights appear in Greek accounts of Artemisian sanctuaries where wild tree species such as cedar, myrtle, laurel, fig and pine were maintained under strict prohibitions on cutting tools; such regulations protected both the physical grove and its resident fauna over long durations (J.D. Hughes, 1990, p. 4). This intertwining of religious authority with ecological stability mirrors Roman strategies for integrating durable evergreen cover into spaces intended as both aesthetic retreats and environmental buffers.

4.2 The villa as the idyllic retreat from the city

Pliny the Younger’s correspondence offers a distinctive literary window onto how certain elites framed villa environments as ideal retreats from urban excess. His descriptions intertwine personal affection for these spaces with rhetorical devices that highlight their suitability for seclusion and self-possession. In letter 17 from 2^nd book of his Epistles, Pliny invites his friend Gallus to visit his Laurentine coastal villa, deploying a playful pun in “you are too urban(e) if you do not long for it” (quem tu nimis urbanus es nisi concupiscis), which suggests both sophistication and an inability to appreciate rural calm (Jashemski et al., 2018, pp.71-86, 87-120):

• Iustisne de causis iam tibi videor incolere inhabitare diligere secessum? quem tu nimis urbanus es nisi concupiscis. Atque utinam concupiscas! ut tot tantisque dotibus villulae nostrae maxima commendatio ex tuo contubernio accedat. Vale.
• Do I not now seem to you, for good reasons, to inhabit, dwell in, and cherish that retreat of mine? You are too much a city-lover if you do not long for it. And I wish you would long for it! So that to the many and great charms of my little villa the greatest recommendation of all may be added — your company. Farewell.

This is the elegant closing of Pliny’s long and loving description of his Laurentine villa. He playfully asks his addressee (Gallus) whether he has now justified his obsession with the place, and extends a warm invitation. The piling up of verbs incolere, inhabitare, diligere emphasizes the genuine affection he feels for his country retreat.

Moreover, the pun operates on urbanus as denoting refined city manners while implicitly pointing to environmental burdens, noise, heat, and pollution, from which retreat into nature might offer relief. This conceit reflects a wider Roman association between cultivated landscapes and moral discipline: if fate positions one within a given post, as Stoic ethics insist, then maintaining order in that post includes curating its natural environment.

The Laurentine villa’s design supported such disciplined leisure through features consistent with elite Roman garden practice. Although Pliny’s letter does not elaborate extensively on landscaping details, in similar contexts colonnaded peristyles enclosed central plots planted with greenery, sometimes punctuated by aquatic features such as ornamental pools or fountains. As discussed regarding shaded colonnades’ environmental benefits (Farrar, 1998, p. 103; Watts, 2015, p. 31), these arrangements moderated temperature and improved air freshness, critical comforts in a Mediterranean climate. The setting would have amplified such effects through its coastal breezes, allowing physical relaxation alongside intellectual work. Pliny’s tone reveals an alignment with republican nostalgia embedded in many Roman attitudes toward rural retreat. His preference for countryside calm mirrors Horace’s aversion to Rome’s environmental drawbacks (JD. Hughes, 1996, p. 165), casting rural life as morally superior to decadent city habits. Martial’s micro-scale urban gardening (Watts, 2015, p. 12) resonates here: even modest plant cultivation contrasts positively with dependence on congested civic provisions.

Beneath the plane trees and behind the clipped box hedges, many of the great villa estates maintained a working kitchen garden (hortus, or in larger contexts, a rusticum suburbanum) that was both a practical source of food and a conscious revival of an ancestral Roman ideal (Leach, 1982, p.3-4). Pliny the Younger, for all his wealth and his exquisite taste in ornamental planting, makes a point of insisting that his Tuscan estate feeds itself: “the villa produces everything it needs, and more” (Ep., V, 6, 45). The produce of his kitchen gardens—vegetables, herbs, fruit—furnishes his table without recourse to the urban market, a detail Pliny mentions not merely as an economic convenience but as a source of deep personal satisfaction. Self-sufficiency (autarkeia) of this kind carried a heavy moral charge in Roman thought, evoking the semi-mythical early Republic in which senators worked their own fields, and aligning the landowner with the Stoic and Epicurean ideal of limiting desire to what nature readily provides (Sen. Ep. 86; Lucr. De Re II, 23–33).

The morale-boosting function of the kitchen garden operated on several levels. Physiologically, the consumption of fresh, immediately harvested produce in an age before refrigeration and long-distance transport was a genuine luxury. Pliny’s guests enjoyed vegetables that had not wilted on a cart and fruit that had ripened on the tree. Nutrition was, quite literally, of a higher order in the garden. Psychologically, the act of inspecting, tending, or simply strolling among the vegetable beds whether performed by the owner or, more typically, by the trusted vilicus under his eye offered a calming, earth-bound counterpoint to the competitive anxieties of the forum and the law courts. Columella, in his manual on agriculture, explicitly recommends that the dominus should visit the hortus daily, not only to supervise the slaves but because the sight of thriving plants “cheers the spirit and restores a sense of stability” (Rust. X, 1–5). The kitchen garden thus became a space of psychological restoration, a living embodiment of the ancient concept mens sana in corpore sano a healthy mind in a healthy body begins with the soil.

Crucially, the kitchen garden was integrated into the same villa landscape that served as a refuge from the city’s polluted air. Pliny’s letters make no sharp architectural division between the pleasure grounds and the productive plots; the kitchen garden lay within the same circuit of walls or terraces, often just beyond the portico (Ep. 2.17.15). The same cooling breeze that carried the scent of myrtle and laurel through the colonnade also bore the fragrance of crushed mint and thyme from the herb beds, and the same walkway that provided views of the ornamental fishpond could lead, a few steps later, to rows of lettuces and cabbages. This seamless integration meant that the elite owner could enjoy the morale benefits of self-sufficiency without ever confronting the hardship of actual labor. His was an aestheticised one: he absorbed the moral glow of the old Republican farmer while still being served by slaves. This is the key ideological move: the kitchen garden is simultaneously a practical resource, a moral talisman, and a stage-prop in the performance of elite frugalitas, all of which contributed to the deeper, more-than-sensory escape from an urban world perceived as corrupt, smoky, and morally dubious.

By situating himself in the villa, Pliny appears to embrace both historical values associated with agrarian virtue and contemporary need for sensory refuge. The withdrawal he praises is not an Epicurean abandonment of public life but a measured recalibration of environment so that civic engagement can proceed from a position of composure, a distinction consonant with Stoic conceptions of self-control. The villa becomes a training ground where boundaries are clear, distractions minimized, and observation of nature’s rhythms can inform one’s return to public affairs.

5 Conclusion

Roman gardens and sacred reserves emerge as carefully crafted environments that addressed both tangible urban challenges and intangible cultural aspirations. These green spaces functioned as refuges from the heat, pollution, and noise endemic to ancient city life, employing architectural features such as shaded colonnades and water elements to create cooler, fresher microclimates. The integration of ornamental pools, structured planting, and evergreen species contributed to environmental moderation, while container gardens and rooftop cultivation extended these benefits into confined urban settings. Beyond their physical utility, gardens embodied a deep-seated republican nostalgia, symbolizing a moral ideal rooted in agrarian virtue and self-sufficiency. Literary voices like Pliny the Younger, Horace and Martial articulate this dual role, contrasting the burdens of urban existence with the restorative qualities of rural and garden retreats, whether expansive villas or modest window boxes.

Philosophical traditions further enriched the significance of these spaces. Stoic perspectives framed gardens as arenas for disciplined self-control and reflection, where withdrawal from urban excess was balanced with continued civic engagement. Epicurean thought re-imagined gardens as pleasure sanctuaries, emphasizing sensory enjoyment and mental tranquility amid political and environmental turmoil. These philosophical dimensions found expression in architectural design and horticultural practice, with visual strategies such as illusionistic frescoes extending the sense of refuge even where physical planting was limited. Public initiatives complemented private efforts, with parks and transformed burial grounds providing communal access to shaded, verdant environments that reinforced shared values of renewal and moral order. Sacred groves, protected by religious sanction, preserved ecological integrity and offered perennial shelter, underscoring the intertwining of spiritual reverence and environmental stewardship (Hageneder, 2000, p. 65; Hageneder, 2005a, p. 13; Hageneder, 2005b, p. 13). (Chandran and Hughes, 2000; Kahera and Ismail, 2002). The deliberate selection of plants for shade, fragrance, and year-round coverage reveals a sophisticated approach to urban greening that anticipated modern concerns about air quality and climate comfort.

Collectively, these elements illustrate a comprehensive Roman approach to integrating nature within urban life, balancing practical needs with symbolic meaning. Gardens served as microcosms of order and harmony, enabling inhabitants to negotiate the stresses of city living while maintaining connections to foundational cultural ideals. This legacy highlights an enduring human impulse to create spaces where nature and built environment coexist in mutually supportive ways (Hageneder, 2005a, p. 8), offering lessons that resonate with contemporary efforts to enhance urban livability through green infrastructure and thoughtful design.

6 Implications for future research and contemporary urban design

The Roman garden, as the preceding analysis has shown, had never been merely decorative. It functioned as a multi-layered environmental buffer, a moral symbol, and a psychological refuge. This recognition opens several avenues for future interdisciplinary research, and it offers historically grounded insights for contemporary sustainable urbanism.

First of all, the microclimatic performance of Roman peristyle gardens invites quantitative modeling. Archaeologists and building physicists could collaborate to reconstruct a typical Pompeian domus (Jashemski et al., 2018, pp. 481-494, 369-401) with its colonnaded viridarium in a computational fluid dynamics simulation, measuring the combined effect of water features, evergreen canopies, and high-transpiring deciduous trees on ambient temperature and particulate matter. Such work would move beyond generic “urban green space” studies to test whether the particular plant assemblages and spatial configurations attested in the Roman world, cypress hedges as roadside barriers, internal courtyard ponds with fountains, grapevine pergolas shading south-facing porticoes, yield cooling and filtration efficiencies that modern designers have yet to fully exploit. The ancient sources, from Vitruvius’s observation on “thinned” air to Pliny’s descriptions of his villa microclimates, provide testable hypotheses for contemporary environmental science.

Second of all, the psychological and philosophical dimensions of Roman garden withdrawal have clear parallels in modern “restorative environments” research. Stoic and Epicurean practices of disciplined retreat within a garden setting anticipate key findings of attention restoration theory and biophilic design, which hold that exposure to verdant, ordered, yet non-threatening natural elements reduces cognitive fatigue and stress. The Roman evidence suggests that the narrative a garden told of golden-age peace, agrarian virtue, or philosophical self-sufficiency was integral to its restorative power. Future research could examine whether the symbolic and cultural framing of urban green spaces today enhances or diminishes their measurable psychological benefits, a line of inquiry for which the Roman material provides a rich comparative dataset.

Third of all, the elite kitchen garden’s integration of food production with leisure and moral display speaks directly to current policy debates around urban agriculture, food security, and the design of productive landscapes in cities. Pliny the Younger’s self-sufficient villa and Columella’s insistence on the morale-boosting effect of a daily visit to the hortus remind us that growing food within the city is not a modern invention but a practice with deep historical roots that also served social and ethical functions. Heritage-sensitive urban agriculture policies might look to Roman models—walled kitchen gardens adjacent to public porticoes, for example as templates that combine food production with the civic values of order, beauty, and shared cultural memory.

Finally, the Roman case underscores that effective urban greening is never merely technical; it is always embedded in cultural and political narratives. The aetas aurea garden, the sacred grove, and the Stoic’s window-box each carried a freight of meaning that motivated their creation and maintenance. Modern green-infrastructure policy, if it is to attract sustained public support and funding, might benefit from a similar marriage of function and symbol—designing parks, green roofs, and street trees not only as carbon sinks and cooling devices but as legible stories of a community’s values, much as the Romans read their gardens as microcosms of a restored cosmic order. In this sense, the Roman horticultural legacy is not a blueprint to be copied, but a mirror in which contemporary designers can see more clearly both their own ambitions and the deep cultural layers that make any urban landscape truly habitable.

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Footnotes

Edited by: Daniela Romano, University of Catania, Italy

Reviewed by: Maria Papafotiou, Agricultural University of Athens, Greece

Hakim Hakim, Universitas Budi Luhur, Indonesia

Tri Endangsih, Universitas Budi Luhur, Indonesia

Footnotes

For the main types of roman gardens please see esseys in part I of Jashemski et al. (2018, pp. 17-242).