Confined to bed with illness after six years of exile to the remote island of St. Helena in the southern Atlantic, Napoléon Bonaparte dictated his last will and testament. "I wish my ashes to rest on the banks of the Seine, in the midst of that French people which I have loved so much. But I die before my time, killed by the English oligarchy and its hired assassins." No such anti-English sentiment is likely to flow from the lips of the present Prince Napoléon who, as the great, great grandson of the wee Corsican’s youngest brother, Jérome, legitimately claims the title of Chief of the Imperial Household. Quite the contrary, in fact, for the tall and dashing Charles Napoléon is quick to reveal himself as a confirmed anglophile. "I admire your institutions, your Parliament and the creativity of the English people", he affirms. "And paradoxical though it might appear, I look forward to the day when Britain takes its full and proper place within Europe."

Charles Napoléon might well be the present prince. But he had to engage in battle before being able to wear his crown. This was entirely due to his father, Prince Louis Napoléon, a cantankerous octogenarian who died three years ago. For he managed to summons up sufficient energy to add a ‘political testament’ to his will, saying that the succession should pass to his grandson, Jean-Christophe, Charles’s own son and an 11-year-old schoolboy at the time. It was the ‘skip-a-generation’ approach, favoured by some in relation to our own Royal family – but without the slightest foundation constitutionally or in law. The deceased man’s motives were two-fold: Louis Napoléon disapproved of the fact that his eldest son had re-married. He also detested his unashamedly democratic and republican political views. Having successfully repelled the attack on his succession front, Charles Napoléon now takes a relaxed view, arguing that his father was being manipulated by die-hard Bonapartists like Maitre Jean-Marc Varaut, the lawyer who represented Papon.

"You also have to put matters into context", the Prince points out. "Do remember that my entire family was exiled from France from 1886, on the grounds that anyone related to the Bonapartes was likely to be a threat to the Republic. It was only in 1950 – the year in which I was born – that my father was allowed back into France by General de Gaulle on account of the Resistance he had carried out during the Second World War. My father then married into the Belgian Royal family and so it’s hardly surprising that he should emerge as a traditional Bonapartist. If you wanted to interview him, you know, then you would have had to address him as Monseigneur."

"So how ought I to address you?", I enquire. This had been a problem for me from the outset. ‘Monsieur’ seemed terribly ordinary, ‘Charles’ impertinent, ‘Charles Napoléon’ a little cumbersome, ‘Prince Charles Napoléon très cumbersome and ‘Napoléon’ positively certifiable.

"This is a question which troubles my interlocutors much more than it does me" was the somewhat unhelpful reply.

"So does your indifference to the way people address you reflect a broader indifference to the issue of your heritage in general?", I persist, anxious for the more serious discussions to get underway.

"Oh la la - not at all. I am happy to take on board my history and heritage – but only for what it is. My view is that matters ought to be driven by what is happening today. I am not trying to drag people back towards the past. For I believe that its only when the people of a country fully understand their history – only then will they be less likely to repeat it. I have not the slightest desire for French history to repeat itself at all. I want France to be open to modernity – and I see my role in helping France to prepare for that role."

In fact Charles Napoléon is at pains to point out that he is just an everyday, ordinary kind of a guy, a Prince – true – but one without the slightest intention of becoming a full-time, dispossessed royal. And he was quick to concede that his own values made him feel closer to the early Napoléon (defender of the Republic) than the later Napoléon (autocratic emperor). Certain aspects of the Emperor Napoléon’s record, and that of his nephew, Napoléon III (1852-70) should likewise be "judged severely". And with a view to demonstrating his democratic credentials, he runs through his own curriculum vitae, which includes an undergraduate degree in law, a master’s degree in public management and a Ph.D. in economics. Rather more impressive, it has to be said, than the academic achievements of his famous relative, who could only finish 42^nd in a class of 58 at the Paris Military Academy. Unlike his own father, Charles Napoléon then went on to have a career in his own right, firstly as a high-ranking civil servant within the French administration, then as an investment banker, and latterly as the Managing Director of his own financial services company which employs 50 people. Not quite the Grande Armée, admittedly, but Charles Napoléon’s point is that he has worked his way up through the ranks on his own merit – via the system of concours (competitive examinations) so favoured by the French.

Like him or loathe him, you cannot ignore old Bonaparte. Some 100,000 books have been written about him, almost as many books, in fact, as the number of days that have passed since his death. Enough interest and excitement for there to be more than a few nutters stomping around on the Napoléonic circuit to this day, n’est ce pas?

"Oh definitely", Napoléon replies. "I remember when I was a child", the Prince recalls. "My father had a copy of the very famous painting by Jacques-Louis David, depicting Bonaparte crossing the St. Bernard pass on horseback. Just as I was leaving for school in the morning my father’s visitor stood to attention in front of the painting and saluted it. You could positively see the pride oozing from him. I soon realised, however, that things were not quite right when I returned from school some seven hours later. For there the same man stood – his eyes still fixed on the painting, still rigid and standing to attention. Oh yes, hardly a week goes by without my meeting some psychiatric case claiming to be Napoléon!"

The present Prince Napoléon, unlike his predecessor, wears three hats. There are his business interests; he chairs the Souvenir Napoléonien – an organisation of 4,000 dedicated to upholding the memory of the Emperor – and, more recently, he has created the an association called the APDIC, ‘for the promotion and defence of the image of Corsica’. And why might such an association be necessary? "Because if you do that Freudian exercise of random association with a Frenchman who lives on the mainland and mention the world Corsica – he will trot out replies such as ‘sunshine’, ‘beaches’ and ‘civil disobedience’. They can’t understand why a region of France can live in a different way, with different values. The view is that Corsica is a rather primitive backwater, unappreciative and ungrateful for the grants and handouts coming from Paris. This is an image that our Association is setting out to put right.

But surely the Prince has enough on his plate. But he adapts the old JFK adage and asks not what Corsica can do for Napoléon, but what Napoléon can do for Corsica.

"You see – that’s it", he says with a David Owen glint in his eye. "It’s all to do with my heritage. I want to do something useful with my past. Napoléon was from Corsica. I spent much of my childhood in Corsica. My second wife is Corsica. I consider Corsica to be my home. I very much want to give something back to the island. But this has to be done with the democratic support of the people. The only people who are not welcome in our Association are those who support violence in any shape or form."

It is difficult for a mere Briton to judge, of course. And if truth be known it was difficult to not to mention Trafalgar and Waterloo over tea. Basil Fawlty knows the feeling. But it sounded to me as if Charles Napoléon’s father might have been right after all. That whilst the present Prince is undoubtedly a good democrat – he would surely have made a useless emperor. Not the most delicate question to put over tea – but I pluck up the courage nevertheless. "Oh definitely", he replies with a grin, "I really don’t think that democracy is compatible with being an Emperor."

And whereupon the Prince delicately puts down his cup and walks out of the posh Hotel de Crillon, just a stone’s throw from the Place de la Concorde. In order to march down the Avenue de la Grande Armée, following in the footsteps of Bonaparte? Hardly. It was straight down to the Paris métro.