of Delphi represents total happiness. Finally Jürg returns to Ragusa and the suffering Inge. The next day Inge is dead. Rumours begin to circulate of a possible euthanasia, and the local authorities anticipate the opportunity to proceed against an unloved Austrian doctor called "Heller". Finally Jürg, who is still visiting the guesthouse for several more weeks, and helping with Inge's administrative matters, admits to her mother that he was the one who administered the lethal injection. The mother sees this as evidence of his great love for Inge and keeps his action a secret, while he will have live alone with the knowledge of it. As Jürg travels back to his home country he knows he has grown up. He feels as though he has passed through many years' worth of experiences in just a few weeks. Background and context On several occasions Max Frisch himself referred to the autobiographical background of "Jürg Reinhart": "What resulted was a first, very youthful novel which, like many first novels, remained firmly rooted in autobiography". Again, in a conversation with Heinz Ludwig Arnold, Frisch stressed that "Jürg Reinhart" was "a barely disguised autobiography, but viewed as an autobiography it simply was not honest enough". The novel is based on real events. Early in 1933 Max Frisch traveled to the world ice-hockey championship in Prague, employed as a sports correspondent for the Neue Zürcher Zeitung (NZZ). The planned two week assignment mutated into an eight-month journey, taking in Budapest, Belgrade, Sarajevo, Dubrovnik, Zagreb, Istanbul and Athens. While in Athens Frisch undertook an extended walking tour that covered Corinth and Delphi, before he returned home via Dubrovnik, Bari and Rome, arriving home in Zürich in October 1933. On the Adriatic Sea, near to Dubrovnik there was a real guest house called "Solitude" in which Frisch stayed for a few weeks. It was run by an impoverished aristocratic woman called Woedke who had a daughter named Ehrengard. And there were a Baron and Baroness von Ittersum staying there. Frisch wrote with enthusiasm about his hostess in letters home, as well as a piece for the NZZ that opened with the words: "Actually these Dalmatian days were exasperating: you cannot paint them but must leave the brilliant colours behind when you depart. Letters remain probably the most powerful reflection of the beauty. Never the beauty itself. Never such a light from a cloudless southern sky. For exulatation."