You will find many lovers in this world.
You will find many lovers in this world but no lover can compete with the love Manuelita Sáenz had for The Liberator Simón Bolívar. [1]
Find a lover who does not play by society's suffocating rules about who, how, or when to love, someone who declares "I do not live by social rules, invented only to torment" [2]. In 1817, when Manuelita was just nineteen, her father arranged her marriage to James Thorne, a wealthy English merchant twice her age. But after meeting Bolívar in Quito's celebration of independence in 1822, she could only follow the dangerous calling of her heart.
Find a lover who fights every battle by your side, not just with words but with steel and courage. Manuelita didn't just watch the revolution—she lived it. At the Battle of Junín in 1824, she pushed through high-altitude valleys where the thin air steals your breath and the cold cuts deep into your bones, earning her Captain's rank among men who had never seen a woman warrior.
Find a lover willing to die for you, risk her life to save yours, and liberate you [3]. On that September night in 1828, when assassins breached the walls of Bolívar’s palace in Bogotá, it was Manuelita who faced their blades without hesitation. They named her "La Libertadora del Libertador"—The Liberator of The Liberator—because she kept the conspirators at bay, giving Bolívar precious moments to slip through a window into the darkness of the night. [4]
Find a lover who thirsts for a life of adventure, excitement, and danger. In an age when women were taught to speak softly and stay still, Manuelita charged across the battlefields. At the Battle of Ayacucho, where South American independence hung by a thread, she mobilized the troops, tended to the wounded, and saved soldiers who had been shot during battle. She earned her Colonel's rank at the recommendation of General Sucre, Bolívar's most trusted commander.
Find a lover you can call your amable loca, your lovely mad one, fierce in revolution and romance. Manuelita helped forge South America's independence, a revolution that liberated six countries across territories larger than Napoleon's conquests and lasted longer than both the American and French Revolutions. In battle, she was a Colonel; in love, she was a tempest. Bolívar, surrendering to her indomitable grace, wrote: "You stalk me between the acacia and cedar trees, ensnaring my fragile humanity within your embrace. I give myself to such imprisonment, captivated by the enchantment of your subtle smile and your audacity" [5]. Their love scenes could be as tender as morning dew or as scandalous as summer storms—she pursued him with the same fearless intensity with which she pursued freedom, making history blush with her daring allure.
Find a lover who stays when the world turns away. When Bolívar’s former allies became enemies, when Peru expelled him and Colombia declared him a traitor, and when his dream of a united Gran Colombia crumbled like autumn leaves—Manuelita remained. She loved him not for his glory but for his soul, even when loving him meant sharing his exile.
Find a lover who pays the price for loving boldly. After Bolívar died in 1830, they exiled her, sought her imprisonment, and tried to erase her from history. In the port town of Paita, Peru, Manuelita survived by translating love letters for North American whale hunters, selling candles and tobacco, and watching ships drift toward horizons she and Bolívar would never reach [6]. Even as they criticized, denigrated, and banished her, she kept every memory of him until her last breath in 1856.
Find a lover whose love, like Manuelita's, refuses to be forgotten. Two centuries later, we still speak of how she loved Bolívar—not just the hero on the white horse, but the man with dreams too big for one lifetime, the revolutionary who dared to imagine a united South America. She loved him through victory and defeat, through glory and exile, through every battle and every quiet moment in between.
In a world of cautious hearts, may you find a love like Manuelita's—fierce enough to change history, bold enough to defy an empire, and free enough to choose its own destiny.
Manuelita Sáenz was Simón Bolívar’s most enduring love.
Learn more about Manuelita:
I wrote a screenplay inspired by Manuelita’s life.
When a writer's quest for inspiration leads him to the captivating Manuela Sáenz, he is transported to a bygone era of revolution and romance. As he witnesses the fiery love between Manuela Sáenz and Simón Bolívar, he discovers a love story that will change his life forever.
If you or anyone you know would like to fund this movie, let’s talk.
Notes
[1] Inspired by a quote from Fighter (2024)
You will find many lovers in this world
You will find many lovers in this world
But no lover can compete with the love you have for your country.
Many die in a coffin wrapped in diamonds, many die wrapped in gold,
But there can be no coffin more beautiful than a coffin wrapped in Tricolor.
[2] To truly grasp the audacious essence of Manuela Sáenz, look no further than a letter she wrote to her husband.
No, no, no, hombre! . . . A thousand times No! Sir, you are an excellent person, indeed one of a kind—that I will never deny. I only regret that you are not a better man so that my leaving you would honor Bolívar more. I know very well that I can never be joined to him in what you call honor.
Do you think I am any less honorable because he is my lover, not my husband? Ah! I do not live by social conventions men construct to torment us. So leave me be, my dear Englishman. We will marry again in heaven but not on this earth. . . .
On earth, you are a boring man. Up there in the celestial heights, everything will be so English, because a life of monotony was invented for you people, who make love without pleasure, conversation without grace—who walk slowly, greet solemnly, move heavily, joke without laughing. . . .
But enough of my cheekiness. With all the sobriety, truth, and clarity of an Englishwoman, I say now: I will never return to you. You are a protestant and I a pagan—that should be obstacle enough. But I am also in love with another man, and that is the greater, stronger reason. You see how precise my mind can be?
Your invariable friend,
ManuelaFrom Bolívar: American Liberator by Marie Arana.
I love this letter to my core because it encapsulates what Manuelita is all about!
[3] You should, of course, be willing to do the same. It has to be equal. It’s the only way it works.
[4] Manuela Sáenz saved Simón Bolívar’s life more than once. While the palace assassination attempt was one, there was another attempt during a masked ball incident, which was even more dramatic, and only a bold soul like Manuelita could pull it off.
Despite not being invited to a formal masked ball, Manuela found out assassins planned to kill Bolívar at midnight. She rushed to warn him, first disguising herself as a military officer. When the guard—one of the conspirators—blocked her entry, claiming she needed to wear "proper feminine attire," she changed tactics. She returned dressed as an old and crazy woman, screaming outside the party: "¡Que viva el Libertador!" ("Long live the Liberator!")
Her theatrical display worked.
As you can imagine, Bolívar was pissed and embarrassed so he had no option but to leave the party early to quiet Manuelita’s ruckus, unknowingly escaping his would-be assassins who arrived at midnight to find their target gone.
Phew!!!
[5] This is the original letter:
Carta de Bolívar a Manuelita Sáenz.
Lima, abril 20 de 1826Mi adorada Manuelita:
Tú me acechas entre el lecho de las acacias y los cedros, aprisionando mi pobre humanidad entre tus brazos.
Yo me entrego a tal prisión como raptado por el encanto de tu sutil sonrisa y tu audacia, en méritos estratégicos para aparecerte como Diana en los jardines de Odiseo. Contigo estoy dispuesto a llenarme exasperado de las satisfacciones propias del amor.
Este altar de Venus vale bien trocarlo por el trajín del servicio a Marte; en el que pondré también mi más caro empeño, en la magnitud de mis esfuerzos. Espérame en el huerto de "Chuquiguada", con tu vivaz encantamiento de sorpresas.
Te amo,
Bolívar.
And the version I translated:
Letter from Bolívar to Manuelita Sáenz.
Lima, April 20, 1826My beloved Manuelita:
You stalk me between the acacia and cedar trees, ensnaring my fragile humanity within your embrace.
I give myself to such imprisonment, captivated by the enchantment of your subtle smile and your audacity.
I surrender to such imprisonment as if captivated by the enchantment of your subtle smile and your boldness, in strategic merit appearing like Diana in Odysseus's gardens. With you, I am ready to fill myself, exasperated, with love's satisfactions.
This altar of Venus is well worth trading for the toil of serving Mars, to which I will also dedicate my dearest effort, to the magnitude of my endeavors. Wait for me in the "Chuquiguada" garden, with your vivacious enchantment of surprises.
I love you,
Bolívar
Comment from a friend: "How almost 200 years later a single letter can convey the love and passion between them is downright magnificent. That is a love so much grander and fuller than even life itself could even imagine."
[6] Let me give you some context.
By 1830, Bolívar's grand vision of a unified Gran Colombia lay in ruins, fractured by rebellions and bitter power struggles. His body was devastated by tuberculosis and his spirit weary from relentless battles, The Liberator sought solace in exile. He dreamed of a final voyage: first to Jamaica’s warm shores, seeking to recover from his illness, and then onward to London, a city of intellectual refuge, with Manuela steadfastly by his side.
What a future this could have been!
Bolívar might have spent his days in libraries, attending lectures, and perhaps publishing memoirs. Manuelita, known for her wit and charm, would have shone in London society. Just imagine them attending salons, mingling with artists, writers, scientists, and other political exiles, sharing their stories of their revolutionary past.
They could have engaged in lively discussions about the Enlightenment ideals that fueled their revolutionary spirits, debated the merits of different political systems, or explored the latest scientific discoveries.
Or just for one second, imagine them strolling through Hyde Park, arm in arm, enjoying the tranquility amidst the city’s bustle. The scent of blooming flowers and the soft murmur of conversation would have been a welcome respite from the political turmoil that had defined their lives. They might have even paused by the Serpentine Lake to watch the swans glide gracefully across the water, their reflections mirrored on the surface.
Or they could have gone to Kensington Gardens, escaping the crowds and losing themselves in the beauty of nature, sharing quiet moments of reflection and intimacy.
But this, all of this, remained a dream because fate had other plans.
On December 17th, 1830, Bolívar’s flame was extinguished in Santa Marta, Colombia, his dream of London fading with his last breath.
Manuelita, consumed by grief, could scarcely comprehend the loss. Her heart shattered at the thought of the man she had loved, the leader she had followed, now gone—leaving her with nothing but the echoes of his once brilliant dream.
She was labeled a dangerous radical, accused of plotting against the new government. Fearing she might meet the same fate as General Sucre—Bolívar’s most loyal commander, who had been assassinated—Manuelita was compelled to flee Bogotá. She sailed first to Jamaica, then onward to Ecuador, her homeland. But along the way, her passport was revoked, and she was forced to disembark in the remote fishing village of Paita, along the desolate coast of Peru. This small town, frequented by American whalers, became an unlikely refuge. It is said that Moby Dick’s author, Herman Melville, crossed paths with her during his whaling years. She was also visited by the legendary Italian military hero Giuseppe Garibaldi, the Peruvian writer Ricardo Palma, and even Bolívar’s beloved teacher, Simón Rodríguez—each drawn to her because she was living history.
Manuelita was relentless in her determination to make the best of the dire circumstances that surrounded her. Taking refuge in an abandoned house near the port, she hung a sign above the door that read: 'Tobacco. English Spoken. Manuela Sáenz.' She clung to survival and lived in virtual poverty until she died in a rather hollow existence filled with the mundane - translating love letters for foreign sailors, selling tobacco, candles, and sweets, and finding a way to make a living out of whatever way she could. The woman who had once been Bolívar's fiercest ally, his most passionate love, was now reduced to a life of quiet obscurity, fighting to survive in the hollow silence of a fading dream.
The ceaseless rhythm of the sea would have tormented anyone.
For Manuelita, watching the ships come and go must have been agonizing. Because instead of the shared future with Bolívar, she finds herself alone, exiled, and struggling. Those ships sailing away are a constant, painful reminder of what could have been. Each departure reopens the wound of her loss, amplifying the feeling of isolation and despair. Every ship that docked, departing with its cargo of hopes and dreams, was a rather cruel reminder of the voyage she and Bolívar would never embark upon.
Thanks to Amber, Adya, Gregory Kauffman, Harrison, Lauren, and Maria Jose for reading drafts of this essay.
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