Last August, the rain-swollen Vltava River flowed over its banks and spilled into large areas of Prague. The volume of the flooding exceeded the most pessimistic forecasts; muddy, gasoline-laced waters crested three meters above the level of the city's previous record-breaking flood, which took place in 1890. Many of Prague's most important historical monuments were inundated, including the St Agnes Cloister, the Smetana Museum, the Jewish Museum, and the National Library.

And the damage was not limited to Prague. In the city of Roztoky, floodwaters reached the second floor level of the Museum of Central Bohemia, destroying an archaeological collection, two temporary exhibitions, and two valuable conservation laboratories. The town and fortress of Terezin, a national cultural monument commemorating WWII and the Holocaust, were completely submerged.

Flooded interior of the Prague Museum of Technology. View more images

Due to prompt and in some cases heroic action by Prague's museum professionals and volunteers, most of the city's important collections were evacuated in time. But there were exceptions, including an important collection of Czech architectural drawings, which was lost along with the rest of the archive at the National Technical Museum.

Today, Prague's cultural institutions remain severely compromised. Generators, ventilation systems, wiring, and telephone networks have been destroyed. Facades and foundations have been weakened. While the floodwaters have long receded, many of Prague's drenched museums and galleries will require months or even years before they are dry enough to safely display and store humidity-sensitive items like paintings, photography, and stone sculpture. At present, the displaced collections are in storage.

The financial cost of the August catastrophe is high. The Czech Ministry of Culture has estimated that it will need $100 million just to restore public galleries and monuments in Prague, and that damage across the country will cost billions. Fine arts professionals are confident they will receive the necessary support from their government. They are less sanguine about being able to protect their treasures from another flood.

"I definitely think it will happen again," says Eva Hodek, director of the Prague House of Photography. Acting on her own, without any warning from municipal officials, Hodek evacuated the museum's collection of Czech and European photographs one day before the flood hit Prague. She's currently looking for a new space for the museum. "It's still hard for me to believe that it did happen. But if you look at the damage we've wrought on the ecosystem, and the damages we've wrought on nature here in the Czech Republic, I expect that we'll see something like this again, and very soon."

Church of Santa Croce, Florence, Italy, 1966. View more images

Prague has suffered deluges throughout its history, with severe floods recurring every 150 or 200 years. Minor floods occur far more frequently. In the 18th and 19th centuries, homes in low-lying zones were equipped with spacious attics into which residents moved when their basements or first floors were filled with water. But with Prague's increasing population density, empty attic space is now an unimaginable luxury. And with decades of ill-conceived Communist-era construction on or near the banks of the Vltava choking the river, the Czech capital appears more vulnerable than ever. Newer institutions, like The House of Photography, can move to higher, safer ground. But for older organizations, relocation is not an option.

"This museum is located in what used to be Prague's Jewish quarter," says Leo Pavlat, director of Prague's Jewish Museum. Although the museum's six synagogues and historic cemetery were protected by flood barriers, two meters of water seeped into them through the ground. "This is the place where these synagogues and monuments have stood from the 13th century. We don't have the choice of moving somewhere else."

The river cannot be tamed and many of Prague's monuments cannot be moved. But there are still measures the city can take to protect its cultural patrimony. And examples of safeguarding from which it can learn. The city of Florence suffered an unspeakable blow when the Arno River poured over its banks in November 1966. The surging, turbid waters filled the city's cloisters and libraries, damaging millions of books, along with statues, church facades, wall paintings by Fra Angelico and Taddeo Gaddi, and a priceless painted cross by the 13th century master Cimabue. While the city's monuments and psyche still bear scars from the disaster, its officials are far more prepared today than they were in 1966.

"As soon as it starts raining, as soon as the Arno rises above a certain level, the whole city runs down to the bridges to watch the river rise," says Cristina Acidini, Superintendant of the Officio delle Pietre Dure, Florence's most important conservation facility. "And it is true that we are a historic city, and we can't consider moving buildings that are six or seven centuries old. But we can take other precautions. Making sure no works or exhibitions are installed in ground floor galleries. We are also in constant contact with civil authorities, and we stage regular flood drills, with teams of volunteers assigned to evacuate precious objects and artworks in any institution we consider at risk."

Copley Sq. 42-inch water main ruptured, Boston, MA. View more images

Protecting culture from water damage is not only an old world problem. On August 17, 1998 a 42-inch, 103 year old water main ruptured in Boston's Copley Square. Millions of gallons of water poured into the basement of the Boston Public Library located a few yards away, causing over $10 million in damage. Worst of all, the flood destroyed a rare collection of 19th century U.S. government publications. "It was a devastating experience for us to lose those materials we had been charged to safeguard," says library President Bernard Margolis.

The library has since repaired its physical plant. Having learned from experience, the staff also removed all collections from the basement level. But the publications are gone. And while it is unlikely that another water main will break outside the library, and even less likely that a similar flood could destroy valuable library collections, Margolis knows that no institution or collection or is ever completely safe. "The reason we call these events catastrophes is that they are beyond the possibility of any kind of human speculation," he says. "There are some things that just can't be foreseen."

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