The Germans entered Louvain with bands playing, and singing in a great swelling chorus:  “Die Wacht am Rhein” and “Hail to the War Lord.”  They marched to quick time, but in passing through the great square of the Gare du Nord broke into the parade goose step.  In the van were such famous regiments as the Death’s Head and Zeiten Hussars.  The infantry wore heavy boots, which, falling in unison, struck the earth with resounding blows, to echo back from the house walls.  Thus cavalry, infantry, and artillery poured through Louvain in a gray-green surge of hitherto unimagined military might.  This, for the latter part of the 20th and the day following.

At first the citizens looked on from the sidewalks in a spellbound silence.  Scarcely one seemed to possess the incentive to breathe a whisper.  Only the babies and very small children regarded the awe-inspiring spectacle as something provided by way of entertainment.  For the rest of the citizens it was dumbfounding beyond human comprehension.  Cavalry, infantry, and artillery rolled on unceasingly to the clatter of horses’ hoofs, the tramp of feet, the rumble of guns, and that triumphant mighty chorus.  There was nothing of aforetime plumed and gold-laced splendor of war about it, but the modern Teutonic arms on grim business bent.  Except for a curious glance bestowed here and there, the German troops marched with eyes front, and a precision as if being reviewed by the emperor.  A few shots were heard to stir instant terror among the citizen onlookers, but these were between the German advance guard and Belgian stragglers left behind in the city.  Presently the side streets became dangerous to pedestrians from onrushing automobiles containing staff officers, and motor wagons of the military train.  General von Arnim, in command, ordered the hauling down of all allied colors, but permitted the Belgian flag to remain flying above the Hotel de Ville.  He promptly issued a proclamation warning all citizens to preserve the peace.  It was both placarded and announced verbally.  The latter was performed by a minor city official, ringing a bell as he passed through the streets accompanied by policemen.

Toward evening of August 20, 1914, the cafes and restaurants filled up with hungry German officers and men; every hotel room was occupied, and provision shops speedily sold out the stores on their shelves.  The Germans paid in cash for everything ordered, and preserved a careful attitude of nonaggression toward the citizens.  But subconsciously there ran an undercurrent of dread insecurity.  At the outset a German officer was said to have been struck by a sniper’s bullet.  Somewhat conspicuously the wounded officer was borne on a litter through the streets, followed by the dead body of his assailant.  Very promptly a news curtain was drawn down around the city, cutting it off from all information of the world without.  Artillery fire was heard.  Presumably this came from the last stand of the Belgian rear guard in a valley of the hilly country between Louvain and Brussels.  With sustained optimism to the end, rumor had it that the artillery fire was that of French and British guns coming to the relief of Louvain.  Toward nightfall one or two groups of snipers were brought in from the suburbs and marched to the place of execution.