By Wendy Blake

With the majestic Gothic cathedral suffused in golden light, the man about to walk the taut cable rigged across the cavernous nave draped a glittering cloak over his white jacket and knee-length breeches, transforming into both master sorcerer and jester. He promenaded across the wire, now balancing without his pole, now lying down as if on a hammock and pretending to strum along with Sting, who sang his ballad “Fields of Gold” from the stage: “You’ll remember me when the west wind moves” and “forget the sun in his jealous sky”: Perfect lines for his aerialist friend above, the legendary Philippe Petit, who is most at home in the upper regions.

This was one of the scenes in “Towering!!” a 19-act work created by Petit to celebrate the 50th anniversary of his extraordinary — and illegal — 1,400-foot high-wire walk between the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center, with no net or tether. “Towering!!” — which premiered at the Cathedral of St. John the Divine on Aug. 7, the exact date of what French-born Petit calls “le coup” — re-enacts that exploit. Witnessing this milestone along with some 1,100 onlookers felt surprisingly intimate, even in the largest cathedral in the world.

Petit, who turns 75 on Aug. 13, has said he is not a daredevil out to frighten audiences, nor an acrobat doing stunts. Rather, the high-wire walker performs “theater in the air,” he says. The late writer Paul Auster, who translated Petit’s book “On the High Wire,” said: “No art, it seems to me, so clearly emphasizes the deep aesthetic impulse inside us all.”

Petit slipped quietly onto the stage, as if not even wanting to be noticed, and ascended to a platform at stage left to reach the steel cable, which was strung between columns flanking the 601-foot-wide nave. The opening glissando of George Gershwin’s ode to American audacity, “Rhapsody in Blue,” could be heard — coming from a woman in a royal blue dress — whistling!

Petit then reenacted the first crossing between the towers — this time on a 20-foot-high cable (again with no net or tether). A recording of him reading from his book “To Reach the Clouds” was played. “One foot moved without consulting the other,” his voice says. Meanwhile, his focus was unwavering as he began to walk, dipping his balancing pole like a long oar, to the reverie of Erik Satie’s Gymnopedie No. 1.

Reaching the other side, Petit sat, leaned back against the column, and crossed his arms with the composed triumph of a sovereign of the skies, as a double bass plumbed the depths of sound. This scene was called “The Throne.” A soaring bird, a puppet at the end of a long pole, lured him again onto the wire. With each passage, he became more daring yet at the same time more carefree, until the crossings were more dance than walk.

Sting took the stage, serenading Petit with “Fragile,” backed by strings and a piano. “On and on the rain will say/How fragile we are/ how fragile we are.” The winsome Petit made another flawless crossing, before patting the cable lovingly as one would a dear friend.

But the world soon intruded, quite jarringly, on the dreamscape, with sirens and swirling red-and-blue lights evoking Petit’s real-life arrest by the NYPD after “le coup.” Two officers burst in like Keystone Cops and tried to lure him down as if he were unhinged. But he just taunted them from the wire, swinging his legs and sticking out his tongue. They finally cuffed him and scolded him, saying “You can’t make beauty just anywhere!” (Back in the day, he was “punished” by being made to perform for children in Central Park.)

A very different type of transformation ensued, called “Confession.” Petit wanted to dispel some “beautiful lies” about “le coup” — he did not actually plan it for six-and-a half-years as the myth would have it, and made fewer crosses than the reported eight. These revelations were followed by transcendent music, as Sophie Auster sang her original song “Flying Machine.” Then Sting performed the world premiere of a song called “Let the Great World Spin.” Sting’s line about “the still point of the turning world” recalls what Petit has said about his impossible “quest for immobility” on the wire and was borrowed, most fittingly, from the Four Quartets, in which T. S. Eliot writes, “At the still point of the turning world … there the dance is.”

Petit concluded the performance by riding a unicycle down the aisle wearing a battered black hat, reprising his days as a youthful street performer who recognized no barriers — in a way, this puckish self seems to be his most authentic. But, to quote “On the High Wire,” “a high walker cannot go long without visiting the sky.” He’ll soon take to the wire again, at Longhouse Reserve, in East Hampton, on Sept. 1.

Performers, in order of appearance: Anat Cohen, clarinet; Michael Miles, dancer; Mia Gosk, dancer; Quinn Walters, dancer; Prim Zimmerman, dancer; David Zohar, dancer; Molly Lewis, whistler; Evelyne Crochet, piano; Shawn Conley, double bass; Merlin Whitehawk, puppeteer; Ralph Lee, puppetmaker; Sting; Jonathan Dinklage, violin; Entcho Todorov, violin; Hiroko Taguchi, viola; Adele Stein, cello; Rob Mathes, musical director and piano; Tim Guinee, performer; Lorenzo Pisoni, performer; Sophie Auster, singer-songwriter; Mark Marshall, guitar.

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