The last word of this novel was written on 29 May 1914. And that last word
was the single word of the title. Those were the times of peace. Now that
the moment of publication approaches I have been considering the discretion
of altering the title-page. The word Victory the shining and tragic goal of
noble effort, appeared too great, too august, to stand at the head of a
mere novel. There was also the possibility of falling under the suspicion
of commercial astuteness deceiving the public into the belief that the book
had something to do with war. Of that, however, I was not afraid very much.
What influenced my decision most were the obscure promptings of that pagan
residuum of awe and wonder which lurks still at the bottom of our old
humanity. Victory was the last word I had written in peace-time. It was the
last literary thought which had occurred to me before the doors of the
Temple of Janus flying open with a crash shook the minds, the hearts, the
consciences of men all over the world. Such coincidence could not be
treated lightly. And I made up my mind to let the word stand, in the same
hopeful spirit in which some simple citizen of Old Rome would have accepted
the Omen.