Like this, perhaps:
Excerpt from "Rackets and Tea": The Life and Writings of William Hazlitt (1778-1833).
In March of 1802, the Treaty of Amiens was signed, and by it, the war between France and England was ended. France, at this point in history, was all powerful on land accessible from the European continent and which did not necessitate any large movement upon the seas where Great Britain ruled supreme. Though it caused a great strain on the British taxpayer to keep her fleets at sea, such an investment allowed the English, except for the European land mass, to assert themselves throughout the world; and, they made the most of it.
This peace that came about in March of 1802 released a pent up demand in England for travel to France. With travel restrictions lifted, Hazlitt was among those who determined to go to France. On October 16th, 1802, Hazlitt arrived at Paris. His objective was to sit in the Louvre and to make copies of the classic paintings hanging there, in particular the Titians. "I arrived here yesterday. ... Paris is very dirty and disagreeable, except along the river side. Here it is much more splendid than any part of London. The Louvre is one of the buildings which overlook it. I went there this morning ...
"One fine morning in November, en route from my poor lodgings to the Louvre, I came upon a great commotion by the Place du Carousel. Quite unable continue my journey due to the crowd of people blocking the thoroughfare, I enquired the reason for this occurrence from a gentleman standing nearby. To my amusement, I was told that an ingenious countryman of my own, the Cornish engineer Richard Trevithick was at that very moment about to exhibit his newly-invented steam carriage to the First Consul himself!
Soon we were able to see the ponderous machine move by us, slowly making its progress along the street towards the French dignitaries ready to inspect it. My new acquintance, a Monsieur Leclerc, told me that Mr. Trevithick had been invited to Paris by none other than that venerable, but much maligned statesman, the Viscount de Calonne, who only recently received the right to return to his native country from London, where he had lived for some time. De Calonne, said Leclerc, apparently saw some economic promise in the invention - others seemed to consider the idea to bring it hither "an old man's last folly". Nevertheless, the First Consul had been curious enough to see this carriage for himself.
And that proved to be his undoing, as we presently found out to our horror. A scream of terror ran through the great crowd, and, greatly alarmed, we craned our necks to see the cause. Mesmerized by the approaching steam carriage, perhaps, or just otherwise lost in thought, the First Consul had stumbled on the cobblestones of the street and fallen before the mechanical monstrosity. To his dismay, Mr. Trevithick, himself guiding his "Paris Steam Carriage", was unable to stop its progress before hitting the French leader. A great panic spread across the crowd, and we could hear members of the Consul's entourage demanding a doctor to attend the fallen man immediately. To no avail, we later found out. Napoleon Bonaparte had died instantaneously when the steam carriage struck him that melancholy morning in Paris..."