The Women and Plants who shape(d) Rome

This blogpost is the fruit of a combination of two experiences during a recent family trip to Rome, Italy (06-10 April). The first experience was the excellent storytelling tour “The Women who shaped Rome” by city stories tours. The screenshots of the introductions of the women come from the Get Your Guide tour description.

The second experience is rather a compilation of photographs noticing plants and trees and looking up some information afterwards why the vegetal inhabitants are there. It is a reaction to the observation how often men and architecture is foregrounded in many tourism tours, but not women and/or plants who also have been part in how we humans (visitors and inhabitants) experience this place today.

The Roman Empire: Livia and Agrippina the Younger

What I learned from their stories is to know your poisons. Livia, the wife of Augustus, was later accused by historians of quietly removing rivals through poison, although much of this was likely shaped by misogyny and political gossip. Agrippina the Younger, equally feared and admired, became one of the most influential women in Roman history, navigating a dangerous imperial court where suspicion itself could be lethal. The stories reminded me to female characters in the popular fantasy series Game of Thrones (which is inspired by real historical events).

Umbrella pine trees

Many of these historic trees are under threat from parasites and climate stress. Rome has always appeared eternal, but both empires (and their infrastructures) and ecosystems depend on delicate balances and an ecology of care and maintenance. 

Judas tree – Christianity enters

Apparently, the Judas Tree is traditionally associated with Judas, the disciple who betrayed Jesus according to Christian tradition. Legend says that Judas hanged himself from this tree after the betrayal, and its once-white flowers turned deep pink or purple from shame and sorrow.

Christianity began to spread in Rome during the 1st century, initially as a small and often persecuted movement within the Roman Empire. We visited the Christian catacombs during our tour to learn more about the first phase of christianity, when it was a secret underground religion in Rome. Over the following centuries, it grew in influence until it was officially recognized under Emperor Constantine in the 4th century, eventually becoming the dominant religion that reshaped Roman culture, politics, and identity for more than a millennium.

An 800 year old orange tree

At the Convent of Santa Sabina in Rome, the bitter orange tree known as St. Dominic’s Orange Tree is traditionally said to have been planted by Saint Dominic, making it symbolically around 800 years old. While the original trunk is long dead and the present tree was likely re-propagated in the 20th century, it is believed to have survived through continuous regeneration from its ancient roots, preserving a living link to medieval monastic history (Source: click here). We did not visit this orange tree, but I could not ignore the presence of these trees in Rome.

From daddy’s pawns to flowering on their own : Lucrezia Borgia and Giulia Farnese (late 15th century – early 16th century)

I had initially thought that Lucrezia used belladonna to poison her enemies in order to elevate her powerful family, but I later learned that she administered other poisons and was still a child in some way when she did this. In reality, she was a young woman, much like Giulia Farnese, who was used by her father to strengthen family alliances and increase wealth and influence; yet after their marriages, both women emerged in different roles, often focusing on charity, family life, and contributing to their communities in more constructive ways.

Poisonous plants – Belladonna (from Ancient Rome to Renaissance)

Belladonna, or deadly nightshade, has long been associated with both beauty and danger, from Ancient Rome through the Renaissance. The plant’s toxic properties were known in antiquity, and its name meaning “beautiful lady” reflects its historical use in cosmetic practices, particularly to dilate the pupils and create an alluring appearance.

Its presence also echoes through literature and history: in Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, set in 16th-century Verona, Juliet might have taken belladonna for her fake death. .

Turning male desire into fortune for their communities: Fiammetta and Olimpia

Their stories suggest how, in early modern Italy, women could sometimes transform socially constrained roles into forms of influence, wealth, and protection for their families and networks.

Their stories also reminded me to the film Dangerous Beauty (1998), starring Catherine McCormack, which tells the story of Veronica Franco in 16th-century Venice. The film portrays how a courtesan navigates a male-dominated world by using education, wit, and relationships with powerful men to secure survival and, at times, exert political and social influence, echoing the complex ways women like Fiammetta and Olimpia operated within their own historical contexts.

I also had to think about the different stories of women (courtesans and concubines) thriving and surviving in a patriarchal society, in one of my favorite anime series, the Apothecary Diaries.

No stories about women as victims and objects, but about women taking agency – Meet Artemisia

Artemisia Gentileschi’s work, especially the powerful depictions of Judith, transforms personal injustice into artistic force, often read as a form of visual revenge and reclamation of power.

As you can see, I took a lot of photographs from plants.

Christina – challenging gender roles and performance

She was one of the most striking figures of early modern Europe, famous for challenging the strict gender roles of her time through both her behaviour and her public persona. Refusing to conform to expectations of femininity or marriage, she presented herself in ways that blurred gender boundaries, embraced masculine dress, and cultivated a court life centred on intellect, philosophy, and performance rather than traditional royal femininity.

Plane Trees in Villa Borghese – planted early 17th century

I told my cousin and second cousin that air pollution is now considered one of the leading causes of premature death worldwide, and in many studies may rank among the very highest environmental health risks. The plane trees of Villa Borghese form long, shaded avenues that have become part of Rome’s living landscape. Their broad canopies and resilient nature make them quiet allies in the city, helping to filter air and soften the harshness of urban heat and pollution.

Arrival of Ailanthus altissima

Of course, I am not surprised to encounter stories about tensions between plants and cultural heritage.

For example, the arrival of this so-called invasive plant tells a very different botanical story from the city’s historic plane trees. Introduced from East Asia in the 18th century as an ornamental species, it quickly escaped cultivated gardens and spread aggressively through the urban landscape (Source: click here).

Books and tea

More Tree Stories

What I realised (again) in Rome is that there are many overlapping stories to uncover… about trees and women, about survival and transformation, but also about vulnerability, exploitation, and resilience within the same living systems.

Both landscapes and women are often treated as things to be managed, protected, or used, yet both also resist simple narratives of victimhood. Even gestures of care, like knitting around a tree, can carry a double meaning: protection on one hand, but also control and suffocation on the other. It becomes clear that the real question is not only how to protect, but how to understand what protection means, and for whom.

Reading the city through this lens brings me closer to ecofeminist thought, which understands ecological and social domination as deeply intertwined. In Rome, this perspective feels especially present: in its trees, its ruins, its gardens, and its long histories of gendered power. Even literary imaginings like Calvino’s The Baron in the Trees that I bought in a cute English shop there, remain shaped by familiar centres of authority, reminding us how difficult it is to fully decentre the human, or the male subject, even in nature writing.

Still, something is shifting. Across Italy and beyond, new ecological and feminist narratives are slowly emerging, inviting us to see cities like Rome not as static heritage, but as entangled, living systems.

Let me know if you are working in projects to foreground new alternative stories about/for/with/in Rome or more broadly in Italy and the mediterranean region.

Want to explore more Italian wood wide web stories ?

If you go to Rome, I recommend to learn more via this tour: https://www.getyourguide.com/rome-l33/rome-the-women-who-shaped-rome-small-group-walking-tour-t958863/?utm_source=getyourguide&utm_medium=sharing&utm_campaign=activity_details

I did not get paid by this company to write this blogpost.