In ancient times, when the Prague banks of the Vltava embraced the city like a gentle arm, yet concealed within themselves a power that could turn everything into nothing, there stood on the ancient Judith Bridge, the pride of Romanesque architecture, a peculiar guardian. It was not a knight in armor, nor a monk with a book, but a stone head with a mighty beard, called Bradáč. Firmly embedded in the riverside pillar, it silently gazed at the flowing Vltava, and in its bearded features lay an ancient warning. People knew that Bradáč was watching, and that as soon as the rising water reached his beard, the river would overflow its banks, and it was time to save property and lives. And woe, if the water reached his mouth, for then it would spread into the Old Town streets, leaving devastation in its wake.

Prague lived a bustling life at that time. Crowds of merchants, carters with heavy wagons, noble lords, and simple craftsmen flowed across the Judith Bridge. The bridge was the city’s artery, connecting two banks, a witness to joys and sorrows. The Vltava flowed mostly calmly beneath it, occasionally carrying ships with cargo, other times just quietly whispering its ancient stories. But its calm was treacherous, for in the depths of the mountains, forces were born that could transform the peaceful flow into a ravenous beast.

And it was in one frosty February in the year of our Lord 1342 that the greatest and most terrible of them awoke. From distant mountains came a thaw, sudden and unexpected, and with it endless rains. The water in the river began to rise relentlessly. Praguers gathered anxiously on the banks and looked at Bradáč. At first, the water only licked his stone chin, but then with each hour, it rose higher and higher. The beard was completely submerged, and then, to everyone’s dismay, the water touched Bradáč’s mouth. That was a sign of doom.

Huge ice floes, heavy as stone boulders, rolled down from the mountains. The river roared ominously, its rumble drowning out the church bells and the cries of people. The bridge shook to its foundations as ice monsters crashed into its pillars. People watched in horror as the Judith Bridge, for centuries a symbol of Prague’s fortitude, began to collapse. Stone arches broke with a crash and fell into the turbulent waves. Pieces of the bridge disappeared into the ice floes, carried away by the fierce current. In that horror, it seemed that all of Prague, its houses, streets, and churches, would be swallowed. The Vltava spread into the streets of the Old Town, flooding squares where only a few days before people had traded and lived. People tried to save what they could, climbing to the upper floors of houses, but the force of the element was immeasurable.

When the waters finally began to recede, they left behind a scene of utter devastation. The Judith Bridge lay in ruins, only a few pillars protruding from the water like silent reproaches. The Old Town was covered with deposits of mud and destroyed belongings. Sadness and despair settled in the hearts of the Praguers. But in every disaster, small miracles sometimes arise, giving strength to carry on.

In one of the Old Town streets, near a place called Perštýn, where the road crosses Skořepka, stood an old house. Its ground floor was flooded, but the family living in it had taken refuge on the first floor. When the waters receded and it was possible to descend, they discovered something incredible in one of the rooms on the first floor. In a puddle of water that remained there, three live carp were swimming. How they got there, no one knew. Perhaps the fierce current carried them there, perhaps the river itself brought them as a gift, as a sign that life always finds a way. It was a miracle amidst the ruin. People told stories about it, and the house soon acquired its name, which it bears to this day: U Tří kaprů. It was a reminder not only of the great flood but also of the indomitable power of nature and unexpected hope.

News of the destroyed bridge and devastated city soon reached the ears of the young king, Charles IV, who looked to the future with wisdom and vision. He understood that Prague needed a new bridge, stronger and more majestic, one that could withstand even the greatest force of the Vltava. And so, with determination and faith in the strength of the Czech people, he decided to build a new bridge, a bridge that later became known as Charles Bridge and which for centuries connected the Prague banks.

And what about Bradáč? He remained. Even though his bridge disappeared in the ice floes, the stone head was later re-embedded into the riverside wall, to continue watching over the river and reminding the Praguers of its changeable power. And so it happened that even in later times, when the Vltava repeatedly overflowed its banks, such as during the great flood in 1841, when water flooded the Old Town Square so much that boats were used on it, Bradáč still showed. The water then rose so high that only the crown of his head remained dry.

The legend of the great flood, of the destroyed Judith Bridge, of Bradáč as a silent warning, and of the house U Tří kaprů as a symbol of miraculous hope, is told in Prague to this day. It is a story about the power of nature, about destruction, but above all about the indomitable spirit of Prague, which has always managed to recover, and about the belief that after every storm comes calm and new hope.