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Manuela & Simon.

I confess that I am not a tolerant woman; yet, at the same time, let me add that I have endured far too much. You can call my zeal a crime; you can revile me as you will. You may satisfy your thirst for malice but you have not discouraged me. For my serenity derives from a clear conscience and is unaffected by the evil intentions of my enemies, the enemies of His Excellency the Liberator.

--Manuela Saenz, June 1830

Open letter to the People of Bogota

ON JUNE 9, 1830, the city of Bogota was preparing to celebrate the Festival of Corpus Christi with fireworks and a big bonfire. The people planned to burn, to the accompaniment of flying sparks and public jeers, what appeared to be a castle topped by two grotesque figures depicting "Despotism" and "Tyranny." The gaunt likeness of the Liberator Simon Antonio de la Santisima Trinidad Bolivar y Palacios, symbolized the former. The latter was personified by the sensual silhouette of Dona Manuela Saenz de Thorne, a "brazen hussy" who in 1828 had dared to order the execution, in effigy, of Francisco de Paula Santander, then the nemesis of Simon Bolivar, but now victorious in his political struggle with the Liberator.

A month earlier, the Liberator and his bold Manuela--intimate companions in love and war--had bid their last farewell. Besieged by enemies, worn and desperately ill, he was to die months later on his way into voluntary exile. She had only the first half of her life behind her; 26 years of poverty and persecution still lay ahead.

In that June of 1830, Manuela Saenz at 32 was both an intimidating character and a ripe beauty with tremendous drive and passion. She had never allowed an insult to her lover to go unpunished. Anticipating a possible violent reaction on her part, the authorities placed armed guards around the castle they had raised in the main plaza, but nothing could stop the renowned rage of "that Saenz woman." Accompanied by her two black female servants, Jonatas y Nathan, Manuela attacked the soldiers and demolished the offensive symbols. The three women, dressed in military uniform, fought as if they were still waging the Liberator's holy war. The following Sunday the newspaper "La Aurora" described what it called an "outrage," noting that Manuela "brandished a pistol, railing against the government, against freedom and against the people." The article aimed harsh criticism at her: "A shameless woman, a camp follower trailing after General Bolivar, who dresses daily in clothing unsuited to her sex ... flouting propriety and boasting of her contempt for laws and morality." On the 20th of that month, Manuela responded to the journalist's censure with an appeal to the people of Bogota. One paragraph read:

If even the withdrawal of this hero from public

life has failed to calm your rage and you have

chosen me as your target, I can say to you: you

can do whatever you want to me, you can

threaten my very existence, cowards that you

are, but you cannot make me betray my respect

and friendship for General Bolivar and

my gratitude to him. Those of you who consider

this to be a crime reveal only the pettiness

of your own minds, while I demonstrate the

constancy of my spirit by vowing that you shall

never make me vacillate or fear ...

As she had done on many other occasions when faced with accusations, prejudice or intolerance, Manuela reaffirmed her faithfulness to the Liberator, her "creole" courage and her pride as a patriot and a lover. Some historians appreciated all of these virtues, as well as her beauty, magnetism, and exuberant nature. Others, however, considered her to be no more than a lascivious, superficial and frivolous woman. Most of her biographies contain intimate details drawn from gossip and campaign chronicles. Yet, Salvador de Madariaga and other biographers of Bolivar, and the memoirs of General O'Leary, depict an enormously complex person. The works of fiction she has inspired have made her into a legend. Manuela Saenz has been the main character in at least twenty books.

Her hair was black and curly, her flashing eyes

bold and black, her skin alabaster white and

her teeth perfection. She was of medium height

with a very fine figure. She knew how to handle

a sword and a pistol and was a skilled

horseback rider--dressed as a man in red

pants and a black velvet ruana (poncho), with

her loose curls under a plumed hat and falling

over her shoulders.

--Juan Bautista Ortiz

in a contemporary account

Two centuries ago, Quito sheltered sixty thousand residents, most of them remarkably uninhibited. The city described by the traveler Alexander von Humboldt as "the finest in South America" reverberated with the euphoria of European ideas. Morals were permissive, the culture was sophisticated and, although the members of each social class knew their rightful places, they all responded to the influence of the French revolution and its passion for freedom. In the Quito of the Spanish viceroys, mistresses were socially acceptable, as were illegitimate children. The clergy gave genteel sanction to this scandalous state of affairs. Yet along with selective luxury and tolerance, Quito was also undergoing an economic crisis, and the first political rumblings produced by republican ideas had begun to stir. War and resistance to Spanish rule, revolution and anarchy, conspiracy, rapes and executions were to dominate the following decades. This was the city that welcomed Don Simon Saenz de Vergara in 1790.

Simon Saenz, a well-born Spanish adventurer of vaulting ambition, took a house on the main street and became involved in politics and trade. He soon obtained high positions, including political and administrative posts. Don Simon was a royalist who despised creoles and years later was to become an implacable enemy of all those who sought independence from Spain. He died during a revolutionary uprising in 1823.

His wife, Dona Juana, gave him four children: Pedro, Jose Maria, Ignacio y Eulalia. But neither his family, his ambitions and political intrigues, nor his hatred for creoles, prevented him from pursuing an extramarital affair. The passion shared by the attractive, mature Simon Saenz and a Quito beauty from a Spanish family, Maria Joaquina de Aispuro, produced a daughter named Manuela Saenz. This "illegitimate child," as described in her baptism certificate, came into the world on December 27, 1797.

The proud and courageous Maria Joaquina had from the start accepted her status as concubine yet had never concealed her maternal pride. The Aispuro family and the proud father spared no expense in providing for the new-born daughter. "She was born in a magnificent bed," wrote Hugo Mocayo, "covered with velvet lined in satin and adorned with an abundant fringe and a precious gold ornament, with a coverlet in the same style and sheets embroidered in Belgian lace."

Within that protective household, Manuela remained safe and secure. She inherited her mother's sensuality and tempestuousness, as well as her sensitivity to oppression and injustice. Although her father was only a visitor at the Aispuro's house, she acquired from him an indomitable spirit and a robust, independent and haughty nature. However, the absence of a constant father figure and a father's affection launched Manuela on an endless quest for masculine love.

Some of the most bitter hours of her childhood were those spent, by order of her father, with her half-brothers and sister. From a very early age she was rejected by her "legitimate" siblings, who considered her an intruder. She took sustenance from the compensating love of two black servant girls who shared in her mischief-making. The unhappiness caused by being labeled a "bastard" in a hypocritical and amoral society caused her to make her way in the prevailing libertine society "with all the eagerness of a beautiful, lustful woman," as noted by Alfonso Rumazo Gonzalez, one of her biographers. Her sensitivity and intelligence consistently put her at odds with any and all injustices. She eventually became inflexible, tenacious, cutting and extremely cunning. To make up for the slights she suffered, she loved to dazzle and show off. Jewels, perfumes and fine clothes fascinated her. She could be very feminine--but she also smoked, drank and swore like a man.

To escape a terrifying sack of Quito by one of the rebel factions, Manuela and her mother moved to their Catahuango hacienda outside the city. There the two lived in great intimacy and pastoral freedom. The end of the first decade of the nineteenth century was at hand, and the name of Simon Bolivar had begun to echo throughout South America. Manuela came to detest her father's preference for the royalists, and to cherish the idea of independence. The security provided by this small world strengthened her physically and reinforced certain character traits. She learned etiquette and to ride horseback, and began to study English and read the classics. She knitted, made sweets and amused herself with her black servants, Jonatas y Nathan. These slave-girls were eccentric, happy-go-lucky, clever, extremely discreet and faithful. They served as her accomplices and companions in many adventures. Indalecio Lievano Aguirre says that they triggered "in [Manuela's nature] a disquieting lust for carnal excitement that would soon lead her to the tormented delights of love. " Other biographers agree that during her stay in Catahuango, through the example of the slaves, Manuela lost her innocence and first experienced "the bittersweet emotions of unknown pleasures."

At 17 Manuela was sent off to a convent to correct, according to one of her biographers, "the boldness of her behaviour and her precocious coquetry." However, another writer makes it clear that the convent chosen was "notorious for its libertine practices." Her experience with the nuns shaped Manuela's future in another way: when she left the Santa Catalina convent, a cloud of scandal enveloped her. There were two sides to the scandal: Manuela's secret erotic escapades inside the convent, and her love affair with a military officer, Fausto de Elhuyar.

Whenever Manuela left the convent to visit her mother, the elegant Fausto would ride slowly beneath the balcony of the Aispuro house. To woo a woman from the street was a common and extremely romantic practice in Quito. Witnesses to the flirtation feared the worst. Manuela had always been fond of men in uniform.

By fate or by circumstance, Fausto happened to be a friend of the Saenz brothers, who were also royalist officers. They brought Manuela and Fausto together for the first time. The two of them fell madly in love. Churches, street corners and the houses of friends served as meeting places. Soon the obligatory separation became unbearable torture. Ardorous and obsessed, Manuela fled the convent to join her beloved suitor. They lived a secret idyll over a period of several weeks until the family discovered their hiding place and sent her back to the convent. Her mother feared the worst: a pregnancy that would condemn Manuela to the same fate as her own, the ignominy of a fallen woman. Months passed, and it became obvious that Manuela had not conceived. (Everyone now agrees that Manuela was sterile. Dr. Richard Cheyne commented that she was "unusually formed for a woman.") In time her young heart appeared to forget its first love. Fausto, the arrogant Spaniard, disappeared from the scene. Neighbors' gossip ceased, and her father decided that the time had come to marry her off. Manuela was not yet twenty years old, but according to one of her biographers, she had become "a hard, domineering, pleasure-loving woman, even though her pleasures made others suffer."

Her wedding to James Thorne took place in 1817. He was an English merchant, quiet and mature for his forty years, the antithesis of Manuela in many ways. Three days of merrymaking were celebrated at the Aispuro's hacienda, the Saenz house and the house of her godparents. Manuela brought to the marriage a rich dowry, her beauty and intelligence, a love of pleasure (but not of her husband) and certain mental reservations; the dull, enigmatic Thorne gave himself to Manuela with an adoration that surprised even himself.

The luxurious house of the Thornes, thanks to Mrs. Thorne, soon became a vital social center and magnet for clandestine political meetings. But neither wealth nor social acceptance nor the revolutionary mystique could completely fill Manuela's life. A continuing vacuum rekindled the flames of her old love for Fausto. In 1818, James Thorne discovered the affair. He terminated it in a way typical of his marital devotion, English phlegm and jealous nature ("more jealous than a Portuguese," Manuela called him in a letter). Liquidating his business in Quito, he moved with Manuela to Lima. Her desire for adventure and romance could not have asked for anything better.

Women patriots who have distinguished themselves

in their devotion to the cause of Peruvian

independence shall wear a decoration

consisting of a red and white ribbon with a

gold medal displaying the national arms on

one side and on the other the inscription: "In

recognition of the patriotism of the gentlest. "

--Decree issued by the

Protector of Peru, January 1822

James Thorne, Manuela, the slaves Jonatas and Nathan and a valet settled on a hacienda outside of Lima. Manuela, with her charm and flair for social intrigue, immediately transformed it into a social center of the so-called "City of the Viceroys. " There were no lack of rivals, however. The most distinguished of her adversaries was probably Dona Rosita Campuzano. Rosita, a native of Guayaquil, had been living in Lima for a number of years. The independence of America was now her great passion. She was a few years older than Manuela, delicately feminine, with blue eyes sparkling with sensuality and seduction. Manuela lost no time neutralizing her gentle rival. She accomplished this by becoming her intimate friend, and cleverly took advantage of Rosita's experiences and social contacts. They laughed, flirted and intrigued together.

In 1818, the winds of independence had begun to blow ceaselessly from the south. Lima was soon to be in a state of great upheaval. Under the leadership of the two female co- conspirators, the Thorne hacienda and the Campuzano salon nourished many a revolutionary scheme inspired by the correspondence between Rosita and General Jose de San Martin, who had just liberated his native Argentina and Chile. The two women organized other women patriots into fighting groups, raised money for shipbuilding and collected materials to make uniforms for San Martin's army. Along the way Manuela remained as playful and sensual as ever, refusing to dismiss the erotic side of power and war. Jose Maria Cordovez Moure wrote that "in the intimate conversations between Rosita Campuzano and Manuela Saenz, the meaning of revolution, which they both desired, took shape from very feminine speculation about the man at its helm, for both of them knew about the Argentine general."

When San Martin finally reached Lima to free the city from the Spanish yoke, his rigid and reserved demeanor disillusioned the passionate Manuela. Nevertheless, by mid-1821, when he was named Protector of Peru (and Rosita, who had become his lover, was being called the "Protectoress") Manuela was also on intimate terms with him and had gathered valuable intelligence about the so-called "Saint of the Sword." She recognized many of his weaknesses, knew of his rheumatism and stomach pains, and was familiar with his political thinking, his military plans and the rivalries between the Argentine general and other revolutionary chiefs. "King Jose" (as he was dubbed by those who made fun of his idea of setting up a monarchy) saw her as a symbol of dedication to the cause and, grateful for her services, awarded her the Order of the Sun. For Manuela, this decoration was her first taste of glory.

Summoned by her father to return to Quito to collect her mother's inheritance--or expelled by her jealous husband, as some say--Manuela left Lima in April 1822. Unaware of the fate that was awaiting her, she was about to encounter the other Liberator and experience innumerable moments of greater glory.

You want to see me with your eyes. I, too, want

to see you, again and again, and to touch you

and feel you and taste you and make you mine

in every possible way. I'll wager you do not love

as much as I do. This is the purest and most

beautiful truth. Learn to love and do not leave

me, not even to go with God Himself.

To the ONLY ONE, as you call me ...

--Letter from Simon Bolivar

to Manuela Saenz

Simon Bolivar was born in Caracas on July 24, 1783. His aristocratic father died three years later and his mother before the boy was nine. As an adolescent, Simon traveled to Spain to complete his education. While in Madrid, he met Maria Teresa del Toro. They fell madly in love and were married on May 26, 1802. Shortly thereafter they set sail for Venezuela. Within six months an epidemic of yellow fever left him a widower, and the man who would later be acknowledged as one of the greatest romantics in all of South America vowed never to marry again. From that time on, his public and private life, until his death at the age of forty-six, was to attain an unparalleled intensity.

In 1807, Bolivar declared war on Spain and did not rest until he had defeated the colonial rulers. Moved by Napoleonic ambition, he rode his legendary white horse across the plains and over the Andes, and participated in the most important battles of the revolutionary campaign: the confrontation at Boyaca, Colombia, the clash at Carabobo, in Venezuela, and the fighting at Junin and Ayacucho in Peru. Guided by a passion for liberty equal to George Washington's, he founded republics from north to south. He was Venezuela's Liberator and Dictator, the President of Colombia, the Father and Savior of Peru, and President for Life of Bolivia, the republic which bears his name. Yet he was never fully understood and twice endured the pain of exile. On numerous occasions the treachery and murderous acts of his enemies wounded him deeply. His dream of liberty ended in a voluntary relinquishing of power and much bitterness. The best remembered aphorism of Bolivar is: "America is ungovernable; those who worked for the revolution have sown their seeds in the ocean."

On June 16, 1822, General Simon Bolivar, at the height of his victories, entered Quito in triumph. He was dressed in a gold-embroidered jacket with the epaulets of a general, and rode "Pastor," his favorite horse. The first symptoms of the tuberculosis that was to cut short his life had already developed but were still imperceptible to outside observers. From a balcony, dressed all in white, and with her decoration adorning her bosom, Manuela watched the man on horseback with the strong profile and the wrinkled, sunburnt brow parade down the main street. That night she danced with him and for him in the Palace of the Governor, and by dawn had given herself fully to the hero whom her imagination had idealized to the point of delirium.

During the twelve nights of love-making that followed, the elegant gentleman and the passionate lady discovered that they were, in the very deepest sense, codevotees of Eros and Revolution. They found that they admired the same heroes, thinkers, writers and even friends. She, more intuitive and wiser in the ways of human nature, assumed the role of counselor and protector of the Liberator. He, a ladies' man with a subtle mind and a delicate way of speaking, felt the urgent need to continue drinking from the generous lips of Manuela, his inspiration and delight. A veteran in the fight againts Spain, she would enroll forever in the ranks of the Liberator, ready for intrigue or battle. A born leader, he would welcome that bold Amazon to the inner circle of his faithful followers. As they bid each other farewell early one morning in Quito, Manuela Saenz knew that, spiritually, she would never again be separated from Simon Bolivar.

The Liberator went on to Guayaquil. After his triumphal entrance into the port city, he received General San Martin, who was coming from Peru. The two giants of America exchanged their thoughts about achieving political stability in the newly liberated territories. After a visit of thirty-six hours, the Argentine general decided to return to Peru and give up the military and political authority he exercised there. Bolivar's ideas and forcefulness had prevailed. Manuela's knowledge of his competitor's weaknesses had been particularly useful to the Liberator at this critical juncture.

Bolivar returned to Quito twice before turning south to rescue Peru from the anarchy that followed upon San Martin's withdrawal. He continued his romance with Manuela amid rebuffs and reconciliations, a restless prey in the nets of the huntress. The lovers met again in Lima in October of 1823. The relationship between Manuela and the Liberator now posed a serious difficulty, since Bolivar was the head of the government. To the dismay of society and James Thorne, she flaunted her devotion to the hero and his cause. The only ones who did not consider this a problem were the most loyal members of the general's staff. Bolivar's aide-decamp, Daniel Florencio O'Leary, admired her and proposed that she be named an army colonel. "From that time on she made it her custom to wear an embroidered blue jacket with a red collar cut along military lines," wrote Mercedes Ballesteros. When critical moments demanded extra efforts, Bolivar employed Manuela as a secretary. With her skill in political intrigue, she kept him informed of what was being said in the aristocratic salons and on the streets of the city.

At that time people began to call her "Bolivar's woman." Although this epithet had sarcastic overtones, the truth is that they belonged to each other. Bolivar had other lovers, but only Manuela accompanied the Liberator when he undertook the most dangerous marches of the wars of independence in Latin America. Manuela, on horseback, escorted by her two slaves carrying her baggage, traveled thousands of kilometers over mountains and deserts, fiercely proud of the mission entrusted to her of guarding the Liberator's personal records. Only "that Saenz woman" was there to read aloud to him and take care of him when fever struck him down. And only "the lovable fool," as Bolivar called her, accepted all the terrible consequences of gossip and betrayal.

The destinies of the Lady of the Order of the Sun and the Liberator crossed and recrossed several times over the next seven years. In a letter to him dated from Huanachuco in May of 1824, she wrote that she understood that the Liberator no longer needed her. In a letter from Bolivar written in Ica on April 20, 1825, her lover appeared to want a separation: "In the future, you shall be alone even at the side of your husband and I shall be alone even in the midst of a crowd. " But neither distance, interference, nor scandal would ever be great enough to divide them. Manuela continued to fight Bolivar's war, acting as his chief of intelligence. When they were together she greeted visitors, answered correspondence and shielded her lover from needless interruptions. It is said that when she took up residence at Bolivar's hacienda in Bogota, she had flowers planted in the garden to form a design that read "Bolivar is the God of Colombia. "

Twice she used her wits to save Bolivar's life from conspiracies. The first time was in Bogota on August 6, 1828. After discovering a plot against her lover, Manuela, having no way to warn him, appeared with Jonatas at a masked ball where an attempt on his life was to be made. Untidily dressed and pretending to be drunk, they created a scandalous scene so that they would be barred from entering. From the ballroom Bolivar heard the shouts. Ashamed of the grotesque spectacle Manuela had made of herself, he left the party, thus inadvertently thwarting the conspirators.

Later, on September 25, another serious attempt was made to assassinate the Liberator. This episode was related in great detail by Manuela herself in a letter to Genera O'Leary. The leader of the plot was none other than Francisco de Paula Santander, Bolivar's bitter rival. Bolivar was very ill in bed. "It was about midnight when the dogs began barking furiously ... I woke the Liberator, and the first thing he did was to take up his sword and pistol and try to open the door. I stopped him and made him get dressed ... Then I remembered what I had heard the general himself say one day: [I told him] |Didn't you tell Don Pepe Paris that this window was a very fine one for jumping out of?'" While Bolivar fled out of the window, the conspirators broke down the bedroom door and questioned Manuela on his whereabouts.

"Some believed me," wrote Manuela, "and others went into the other room, feeling the warm bed, which made them even more frustrated, although I told them that I had been lying down waiting for [Bolivar]to leave the Council in order to give him a bath. They made me show them where the Council was meeting ..." When the conspirators realized that their victim had escaped, Manuela continued, "I went to the plaza and found the Liberator there on horseback speaking to Santander and Padilla in the midst of a crowd which was cheering the Liberator. When he returned to the house he told me: |You are the Liberatrice of the Liberator.'"

As Bolivar's health deteriorated dangerously, his political misfortunes became even more pressing. The web that Gabriel Garcia Marquez depicts brilliantly in his novel El General en su Laberinto relentlessly became more inescapable, and he needed ever more urgently "his confidante, the keeper of his papers and his most emotive reader."

When they could not be together, he wrote her passionate letters like this one sent from Bogota: "The frost of my years melts when touched by your kindness and grace. Your love gives meaning to a life that is fading away. I cannot exist without you; I cannot voluntarily give up my Manuela ..." Or another in which he confessed his adoration: "The altar you inhabit will never be profaned by any other idol or image, even though it be of God Himself. You made me an idolator of human beauty, of you, Manuela." Full of nostalgia, Bolivar wrote: "When you were mine, I loved you more for your enchanting disposition than for your delectable charms. But now it seems to me that we are separated by an eternity ..."

However, inexplicably, when an exhausted Liberator decided to relinquish power in Colombia and go into voluntary exile, he did not take her with him. It is obvious that he still loved her and perhaps wanted to protect and save her from weariness and anxiety. But it is also strange that he did not mention her in his will nor send her a last word when he realized that he was dying.

Ever since that afternoon the town of Paita

held an attraction for me and I never passed by

without spending an hour of delightful conversation

with Dona Manuela Saenz. I recall

that she almost always gave me preserves she

herself had prepared on an iron brazier placed

near her armchair. The poor woman had been

crippled for many years.

--Ricardo Palma,

Tradiciones Peruanas

While the dying Bolivar was on his way to Santa Marta, Manuela Saenz fell into disgrace in Bogota. Some clamored for her imprisonment, others for banishment; very few were willing to forgive her. But she refused to give in to any pressures from the government. When demands were made for her to hand over the Liberator's records, her reply was: "You will neither get papers nor books; I shall deliver them to no one unless you prove to me by law that he is an outlaw." She surrendered a part of that treasure to General O'Leary.

By the time Manuela received the sad news of the death of her glorious lover, she was already into the longest and bitterest chapter of her life. It began with banishment to Guaduas. There, made desolate by the passing of Bolivar, she let a poisonous snake bite her in the hope of ending her life, but was saved by her neighbors.

Later came exile in Jamaica. After trying to enter her native Quito, she was sent to Peru, where she finally settled in the port of Paita, a thousand kilometers from Lima. She never returned to the side of her husband. James Thorne had long since pardoned all her infidelities and brightened his last years with the company of other women. He was assassinated in Lima in June 1847.

Throughout these wanderings, accompanied almost to the end by Jonatas and Nathan, Manuela saw that her mission in life, as Bruna Tristan described it, was "to cherish and protect the memory of Bolivar, defending it from opportunistic distortions by those who had divided up what he had bequeathed in violation of the concept of unity and solidarity for which he had fought to the end."

Many visitors came to her poor little shop in Paita which catered to sailors (she put up a sign that read: "Tobacco. English Spoken. Manuela Saenz"), in search of evidence of her historic participation in the struggle for the liberation of America. A young whaler named Herman Melville dropped by to see her. Giuseppe Garibaldi talked with her in 1851 ("she was the most gracious and charming matron," he wrote in his memoirs). The Peruvian historian Ricardo Palma had a number of conversations with her.

From Paita she answered letters from General Daniel Florencio O'Leary, who, upon his return to Bogota as General Consul of Great Britain, was writing his memoirs with a view toward restoring the reputation of Simon Bolivar. Twelve years after his death, the Liberator finally earned his place in history. However, the figure of Manuela had to fade into obscurity because a great hero could not be shown to have engaged in an illicit love affair. Manuela accepted her lot in silence.

Just before she reached the age of fifty, a step broke as she descended the stairs in her termite-infested house. Manuela fell to the floor below and dislocated a hip. The accident achieved what other dreadful adversities had failed to do, making her helpless and dependent upon others for all her needs. After almost a decade of suffering, Manuela died on November 23, 1856, during a diphtheria epidemic. Ironically, the townspeople burned the coffer containing more than a hundred love letters and documents which the "Liberatrice" had guarded with such devotion, together with her personal effects, to prevent the spread of the disease. Her mortal remains were buried in a common grave in the cemetery of Paita.

Martha Gil-Montero was born in Cordoba, Argentina, and has resided in Washington, D.C., since 1979. She is the author of a volume of poetry, Mundomujer, and a biography of Carmen Miranda, Brazilian Bombshell (entitled Pequena Notavel in the Portuguese edition), among other publications.
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Title Annotation:Simon Bolivar, Manuela Saenz
Author:Gil-Montero, Martha
Publication:Americas (English Edition)
Article Type:Biography
Date:Mar 1, 1990
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