On September 30, 1938, Adolf Hitler stood at the peak of his influence in Munich, Germany. With the stroke of a pen, he secured the Sudetenland without firing a single shot.
The Munich Agreement, also signed by Britain and France, left Czechoslovakia betrayed and weakened, its borders stripped and its defenses shattered. Just months earlier, Hitler had already absorbed Austria into the Reich through the Anschluss, fulfilling a key part of his nationalist vision.
At home, he was celebrated as a genius of diplomacy and a protector of the German people. Nazi propaganda flooded the airwaves and newspapers with images of a triumphant Führer, restoring pride and power to the nation. The German people cheered, and Hitler's regime seemed untouchable.
But beneath the polished facade of strength and unity, a scandal brewed that threatened to crack the foundation of the Nazi myth. One of the regime's most powerful men, propaganda minister Joseph Goebbels, was entangled in a passionate affair with a woman whose beauty and charm captivated even the coldest hearts, and whose origins lay in a land Hitler held in contempt. Her name was Lída Baarová.
Lída Baarová was born as Ludmila Babková on September 7, 1914, in Prague, then part of Austria-Hungary. Her father, Karel Babka, worked as a municipal official, and her mother, Ludmila, was an opera singer who also sang in the chorus of the Czech National Theater. She had a younger sister, Zora Babková, better known under her stage name Zorka Janů.
Even in childhood, both girls displayed a flair for performing. Lída was recognized for her striking looks and poise, while Zorka's talent would soon lead her into acting roles as well.
During the interwar Czechoslovak Republic, which was founded at the end of the First World War, there was a relatively stable and democratic political system, especially compared to many of its Central European neighbors. It was characterized by a parliamentary democracy with regular elections and a vibrant political life.
Culturally, the republic thrived as a center of modern art, literature, and architecture, particularly in cities like Prague. One of the notable aspects of the Czechoslovak Republic was its generally positive approach toward national minorities, including Germans, Hungarians, Jews, and Ruthenians. The constitution guaranteed equal rights, and minority communities were allowed to maintain their languages and cultural institutions, which was relatively progressive for the time.
In this situation, Lída was growing up and attended the Prague Conservatory, aiming for an artistic career. But when at age 17 she was offered a part in the 1931 film "Pavlínčina kariéra," she seized the chance. The conservatory disapproved, expelling her for breaking the rules against student film work, as students were forbidden to perform in films.
Instead of thwarting her ambitions, this episode ignited a drive that propelled her into Czechoslovak cinema. Throughout the early 1930s, Lída Baarová became one of Czechoslovakia's most sought-after movie stars. She initially made her mark in comedy films, co-starring with popular actors such as Vlasta Burian in titles like "Lelíček ve službách Sherlocka Holmese" and "The Undertaker."
Her glamorous appearance and natural screen presence attracted a wide audience. Various movies and their success cemented her reputation as a leading lady beloved by Czechoslovak moviegoers. However, critics of the day often focused on her beauty rather than her acting range, sometimes dismissing her as merely photogenic. Determined to demonstrate greater depth, she sought roles that tested her craft. Directors like Otakar Vávra recognized her potential and cast her in more challenging roles.
Meanwhile, her younger sister, Zorka Janů, was following in her footsteps. Zorka's promising career included roles in theater and film, notably the 1939 movie "Fiery Summer," in which both sisters appeared. Zorka's talent and delicate looks hinted at a bright future. Yet family tragedy would later cut her life and ambitions short.
By the mid-1930s, Baarová's popularity extended beyond the border and into the country that was a bitter enemy of the free and democratic Czechoslovakia: Nazi Germany. Baarová was ambitious and aware of Berlin's major film studios, and she made the decision to work with the enemy.
Nazi Germany then boasted the largest film industry in Europe and at the same time suffered from a shortage of actors. The reason was that many artists chose to go into exile or did not meet the demands of the Nazis. At this time, Joseph Goebbels, Adolf Hitler's minister of propaganda, was shaping film into a potent propaganda instrument used for political influence while cloaking it in entertainment.
In 1934, Baarová left Prague for Berlin. The same year, she met Adolf Hitler, who told her, "You look like someone who played a major role in my life." Hitler was referring to his niece, Geli Raubal.
In Germany, Baarová signed with the UFA film studios, which were openly available for the Nazi propaganda machine, and appeared in well-received films like "Barcarole" and "Die schöne Frau." Her graceful transition to the German language and her timeless beauty made her a sensation. Audiences were charmed, and critics compared her favorably to established stars.
There was talk of Hollywood interest, but she reportedly declined a long-term American contract, later calling it the greatest mistake of her life. She later said, "I could have been as famous as Marlene Dietrich."
During her time in Nazi Germany, she had an affair with a star of the time, Gustav Fröhlich. He was known not only for his acting performances, but also for the fact that he renounced his Jewish wife, with whom he had a daughter, in order not to let the marriage damage his career.
Although the Nazi government tolerated light entertainment, behind the scenes it carefully curated the image of foreign actors, especially from regions Hitler sought to dominate. Foreign stars who joined German cinema were expected to reflect well on the regime. For a time, Baarová managed to balance her Czech identity with the demands of German film executives, all while earning significant box office success.
Despite showing comedic or romantic themes on the surface, films made in Nazi Germany had a deeper political purpose. Joseph Goebbels, head of the Ministry of Public Enlightenment and Propaganda, considered cinema an ideal tool to influence hearts and minds without resorting to blatant preaching. He wanted to captivate audiences, believing that escapist storylines featuring beloved stars would keep the public loyal to Nazi aims.
Nevertheless, Goebbels also oversaw outright propaganda movies and carefully controlled which films were allowed. Goebbels was known for praising actors, hosting lavish parties to cultivate their loyalty, and spotlighting them at public events to demonstrate the glamorous side of the Third Reich. In effect, film stars acted as unofficial ambassadors, lending a cover of elegance to a brutal dictatorship.
Amid Berlin's glittering film premieres and parties, Lída Baarová caught Goebbels's personal attention. Known for his stern public persona, he was surprisingly enchanted by cinema and its attractive stars. Before long, rumors of a romance spread.
Baarová later asserted that she initially resisted, but Goebbels's high position made it impossible for her to refuse. Their affair progressed, even though Goebbels was married with children and upheld by the Nazis as a model family man. The relationship posed a risk to both the propaganda minister's image and Hitler's carefully maintained ideology.
Goebbels was by no means a handsome man. Frail and sickly as a child, he suffered from chronic health problems, including a severe lung infection that left him weakened for a long time. A congenital deformity made his right foot shorter, thicker, and twisted inward. Despite undergoing surgery, the condition remained. He wore a metal brace and a custom-made shoe, walking with a limp that further accentuated his physical shortcomings.
Rejected from military service in the First World War due to his disability, Goebbels never fit the image of a heroic figure. And yet what he lacked in appearance, he made up for in charisma, ambition, and power, qualities that in the end drew Lída Baarová into his orbit.
The scandal peaked in 1938 when Goebbels considered divorcing his wife, Magda. Alarmed by the potential fallout, Hitler, who was also charmed by Baarová in the past, stepped in, forcing an end to the affair. Officials also banned Baarová from working in German films, effectively ending her Berlin career.
Shunned, she returned home to Prague, where, ironically, the Nazi occupation made it difficult for her to escape her past. When Lída Baarová returned home, the country she once knew had changed beyond recognition. At first, Czechoslovakia lost a large part of its territory in September 1938 thanks to the Munich Agreement. Then in March 1939, the state broke up and a large part was invaded by Nazi Germany, leading to the establishment of the Protectorate of Bohemia and Moravia.
While it maintained a facade of limited autonomy, real power rested with the Reich Protector and the Nazi regime. Daily life was marked by repression, censorship, forced labor, and fear. Public opinion toward those who collaborated or maintained close relationships with the Nazis was overwhelmingly negative. Such individuals were often seen as traitors, facing deep social disdain during the occupation and harsh consequences after the war ended.
For someone like Baarová, whose past was entangled with the Nazi elite and a romance with one of the highest Nazis, coming back meant not only returning to a changed country, but stepping into a society that viewed her with hostility and suspicion.
After her homecoming, Baarová found her reputation severely tarnished. She managed to act in a few local productions, but soon found herself barred from appearing in Czech films. Hoping for a fresh start, she traveled to Italy, performing in titles like "La fossa degli angeli" and working alongside stars such as Vittorio De Sica in "L'ippocampo." Although these roles momentarily revived her career, the war's chaos repeatedly disrupted film production.
After the Allied landings in Italy, the actress had to return to Prague even before the end of the war. She likely wanted to avoid the fighting that soon broke out in Italy between the Allied forces and the resistance on one side and the Nazi troops along with the remnants of Italian fascists on the other.
In early 1945, with the Allies closing in on Nazi Germany, she fled to southern Germany, where she was detained by American forces. She was interrogated by members of the American Counter Intelligence Corps, who were undoubtedly interested, among other things, in her relationship with one of the most prominent Nazis.
After a few months she was extradited to Czechoslovakia on allegations of collaboration with the enemy, and afterwards she spent 16 months in custody facing further interrogations. During these months her family suffered enormous losses. Her mother died of a heart attack in the middle of an interrogation related to Baarová's case.
Worse still, her sister Zorka Janů, humiliated by associations with her collaborator sibling, could not find acting work. Plagued by despair, Zorka committed suicide in March 1946. She was only 24 years old.
Ultimately, the courts decided there was insufficient evidence to convict Baarová of treason. She was freed in December 1946, but the stigma surrounding her remained. Her mother's death and her sister's suicide haunted her, revealing the tremendous toll of public condemnation.
Determined to escape the political turmoil in postwar Czechoslovakia, Baarová married puppeteer Jan Kopecký and fled with him to Austria after the communist coup in Czechoslovakia, which took place in 1948.
In the 1950s, she tried to resume acting, taking minor roles in Italian and Spanish productions, including a small part in Federico Fellini's "I Vitelloni." Yet the big screen spotlight never fully returned. During this period, she married her second husband, an Austrian doctor, Kurt Lundwall, and settled with him in Salzburg.
Despite living comfortably, she remained isolated and dogged by questions about her Nazi connections. Although she sometimes gave interviews offering her version of the Goebbels affair, her pleas of innocence failed to sway many critics.
Lída Baarová's story shows the moral and personal dilemmas faced by artists in a totalitarian regime. She began as a promising teenager in Czechoslovakia, briefly conquered the German screen, and then fell into scandal because of her affair with Joseph Goebbels. That relationship and the repressive Nazi film system forever tainted her film achievements. Even her sister, the talented but ill-fated Zorka Janů, could not escape the doom overshadowing the family.
Lída Baarová lived out her later decades in Salzburg, essentially cut off from her homeland except for a few short visits. In her solitude, she would often cling to alcohol, in which she tried to forget the disappointments she had experienced in connection with her career, which at the end of the day brought her more sorrow than joy.
Baarová died childless on October 27, 2000, aged 86. Her ashes, along with those of her parents and her tragic sister, Zorka, were interred in the family grave at Prague's Strašnice Cemetery. Lída Baarová finally rested in her homeland.